


They Are As Legion

by Darkrivertempest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Ghosts, Gore, Horror, Manipulations, Movie Reference, Mystery, Psychological Drama, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Supernatural Elements, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:32:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkrivertempest/pseuds/Darkrivertempest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is the price of peace? Some things are worth more than others, and Draco Malfoy will finally understand the value of selfless love—that is, if he survives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2010 Draco Big Bang Fest. 
> 
> This fic is based on the tale/movie of _Thirteen Ghosts_ , as well as several legends and first-hand accounts concerning the area of Athens, Ohio. 
> 
> Fathomless thanks go to my betas: ssddgr, dusty273, and imbloodyenglish. Thank you for putting up with me and my weirdness. Eternal special thanks go to blackoberst for providing the incantation/spell in chapter five and the Latin translation - I promise you didn't forfeit your soul. 
> 
> **Warning:** This story is creepy, full of supernatural stuff, and angsty. Take the tags seriously. According to comments on other sites, you might want to read this during the day time, or with lots of lights on. This story deals with religious themes. If this offends you, turn back now.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters and canon Potter Verse belong to JK Rowling and associates. I am in no way affiliated with Warner Brothers, JK Rowling, or Scholastic. I do not make any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

In the end, there was a lot less carnage than one might have expected.

Severus Snape flexed his fingers, thinned his lips, and narrowed his eyes at the letter in front of him, hating the mocking scrap of parchment that demanded his attention. The actions connected to the missive caused him to dwell on those memories and what brought him to this, here and now.

In a moment of previously unheard of pure courage, Draco Malfoy had turned his killing curse upon his aunt instead of the ailing Headmaster, the green pulse sending her over the stone parapet of the Astronomy tower. That decisive turn of events had allowed for Severus to dispatch the remaining Death Eaters and whisk Dumbledore, along with Malfoy, to safety in an undisclosed location before more of the Dark Lord’s servants could happen upon them. 

Now, five years later and with aching joints, which were a result of a magical backlash from one of Dolohov’s spells, Snape lounged in his leather winged-back chair and scowled at the parchment lying on his desk. He wanted to ignore it, but, given the circumstances if he did, it would not bode well for the world—Wizarding and Muggle alike.

Rubbing at the faded Dark Mark, he sighed heavily. Had he foreseen the events that happened by dispatching Bellatrix, he would’ve killed Dumbledore without waiting for Malfoy to decide whether he had the bollocks or not to do such a thing. The final battle had been many months later and he still cursed the Headmaster for withholding information as was his wont to do. That fateful morning, he’d escaped an Avada Kedavra flung at him from a newly initiated Death Eater desperate to prove their worth, stopped by accident by none other than Ronald Weasley. It’d been poor luck, really, as the ginger fool had inadvertently stepped in front of the curse meant for Snape. Watching the boy fall, he’d been caught off guard by one of Dolohov’s specialized hexes that affected only those that had Muggle blood in their veins. Being that Severus was a half-blood, it hadn’t outright killed him, but he wished it had on most days. 

It was a wonder how Granger had ever survived the curse when she was disarmed with it during the Department of Mysteries skirmish, seeing as she was Muggle-born. The reaction to his spell had caused Severus’ muscles to be in almost constant state of spasm and a highly potent potion was the only thing that allowed him any modicum of relief or ability to function somewhat normally. He sometimes idly wondered if the Death Eater hadn’t enhanced the curse just for him. On days when the potion needed to be strengthened, Snape considered that dying would’ve been preferable to the pain coursing throughout his body, and cursed the idiocy of the redhead that had distracted him. 

Of course, Snape had had to fulfil his Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa Malfoy, though he’d done it on _his_ terms. Once Draco and Dumbledore had been secured, he’d sent out his Patronus with instructions for the Golden Trio to follow it to their location, as he’d wanted reliable witnesses and plenty of memories, should a Pensieve prove necessary.

Compared to the excruciating pain of his curse, Dumbledore had died peacefully and quietly, surrounded by the trio, Malfoy, and Snape, but not before having extracted an oath from each of them. As he’d drawn his last breath, Dumbledore had charged them to protect their world by any means necessary and upon pain of losing their magic if they did not comply. With the Unbreakable Vow appeased, he’d then colluded with them to bring about the downfall of Voldemort. The alliance had been tenuous at best. After all had been said and done, Severus had been reinstated as Headmaster, Voldemort destroyed by Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley a victim of his own bumbling. 

“You wished to see me, Headmaster?” Harry Potter asked quietly, drawing the dark man from his dark thoughts.

“Take a seat,” Snape grunted, pointing to one of four chairs positioned in front of his massive oak desk.

The two men waited in tense silence until another former student appeared, floating into the chamber with her calm demeanour. She never bothered with a question about her summons, instead setting herself next to Harry to await the others.

“I’m glad to see that scar is healing,” he whispered to Luna Lovegood, his gaze directed to just below her ear where a long, pink line ran to below her collarbone. 

“Would it overtax you to remain quiet?” the Headmaster snapped at them, never raising his eyes to his former students.

“Harry!” A girlish squeal erupted in the room as Hermione Granger appeared and enveloped her best friend in a tight hug. 

_So much for the silence_ , Severus thought, continuing to peruse the letter before him. He contemplated telling the three companionably chattering to get the bloody hell out of his office, but the directive on the parchment taunted him, and prevented him from doing so. Now, if only one more deigned to show his face…

“You know, it’s damned inconvenient to roll out of bed this early, Severus,” Draco Malfoy drawled as he stepped into the room, rubbing his eyes and squinting against the weak sunlight filtering into the room. 

All conversation halted, and a sneer grew across Snape’s lips. “Ungrateful whelp!” The words were a growl, which he accompanied with a glare at the blond man. “Sit!”

Once they were seated, Snape held the parchment aloft and muttered, “ _Amplifico_.”

The yellowed paper grew ten times its size and the lettering became visible to the four who began reading it. Of course, it would be Granger who would ask the first question, insufferable know-it-all swot. 

“Isn’t it dangerous to Apparate over such long distances, sir?”

“What’s the matter, Granger? Afraid you’ll splinch that enormous brain of yours from your body?” Draco sniggered. 

Her brows drew together a pinched scowl. “I was more worried that certain parts of your anatomy would be irreparably forked.”

Harry snorted, but Snape slammed his palm down on the wood expanse, startling them. “When you cease acting like imbecilic children, I’ll explain the details!” he said with a snarl that bared his crooked teeth.

Even Malfoy quieted from the unexpected outburst. 

“Now, I do realise that while you are no longer students of Hogwarts, you are in fact, emissaries to the Wizarding world, for all intents and purposes,” Snape groused, standing up. “You agreed, may I remind you, to serve out Dumbledore’s wishes in rebuilding the Wizarding world.” He looked pointedly at Luna, then turned his attention to Harry. “The only reason Miss Lovegood was included in this little gathering is because of your inability to keep your mouth shut, Potter.” 

In a moment of frustration, just before Voldemort had been vanquished, Harry had confided in Luna all that had happened the night Dumbledore had died. She’d taken it as serenely as usual, nodding her head and continuing on. However, it had caused her to be bound to the same oath to keep the Wizarding world safe that the other five had taken, with her none the wiser. When the smoke had cleared and the battlefield—littered with their friends’ bodies—had come into view, guilt had risen in Harry’s chest, making him finally tell Luna that she was now responsible for helping them protect and rebuild, or she’d be stripped of her magical powers. She’d just shrugged her shoulders and told him that she had planned on doing that, anyway... and wasn’t it nice that the oath fell parallel with her plans?

Snape swivelled and grabbed a long cord with a steel ring tied to the bottom. Pulling down a projector screen, he tapped the fabric until a map appeared.

“To the uneducated masses, this is—”

“America,” Hermione blurted out, unable to stop herself. 

Whipping his wand in her direction, Snape cast a silencing spell on the brown-eyed girl. “ _Terminus Dissero_.”

Hermione whimpered and tried to pry off the metal plate now painlessly riveted to her mouth. Harry moved to help her, but Luna laid a hand on his chest and shook her head. “He’ll release her when he’s done presenting,” the blonde girl advised. 

“The first sensible thing any of you have blathered yet,” the Headmaster intoned snidely. 

“I think it’s an improvement, myself,” Draco observed. He instantly found himself in much the same predicament as Hermione. 

Snape looked at Harry and Luna. “Will you remain silent, or do I need to make further adjustments?” Both shook their heads in the negative. “Good. As I was saying, this is the United States.” He pointed specifically to a heart-shaped area. “This state, in particular, is called Ohio.”

Hearing no flippant comments, probably due to the two most vocal members having been silenced, he continued. “Minister Floohart has asked that a contingent of researchers from the Wizarding world be sent to investigate the paranormal happenings that seem to be highly concentrated in this area.” His wand highlighted a section in the middle southeast of the state. 

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione seethed behind the metal mouthpiece, her curiosity overwhelming in its intensity. Draco examined his nails, knowing full well that his former Head of House wouldn’t remove the gag until he was good and ready.

“It seems our American counterparts have investigated the locale and found nothing but useless drivel and occultist folklore, further perpetuating the unstable situation,” Snape explained while he paced slowly, his hands behind his back. “The American Wizarding Society wishes to break ground in this area and build a ‘Midwest’ branch of their operations due to the extensive ley lines that populate the region, but the ‘incidents’ that are occurring greatly hinder their progress.”

“Sir?” Harry posed hesitantly, waiting to see what his former Potions professor would do.

He merely arched a brow and pursed his lips. “I suppose if Miss Granger cannot speak, you’ll do it for her, is that it?”

“No, I have my own questions.”

Due to a private stipulation, Severus was prohibited from telling them much of anything with regards to the assignment, but he could at least point them in the right direction. Walking to the nearest bookcase, he perused the titles until he found the one he wanted, pulled it off the shelf and let it fall on his desk in a dusty cloud. “I know how well Miss Granger loves her research; I would hate to deprive her of such a pleasure.” With a flick, he released Draco and Hermione, pulling on the screen to let it fly into a curled state. “Any answers you seek will have to come from here, as I have better things to do with my time.”

“Why us four?” Hermione huffed as soon as she was free.

Draco sneered. “Because we’re all so obviously well-suited.”

Trying to hide his smirk, Snape nodded. “In a manner of speaking.”

“I was not in the least bit serious.”

“Be that as it may, you four possess certain abilities that your counterparts do not.”

“What?” Harry asked, looking between his friends and Malfoy.

Snape eyed Hermione. “I’ll leave that to Miss Granger to deduce. As I said before, I’d hate to deprive her of the only thrill she gets in life.”

“That was uncalled for,” she spat, though she snatched the book from his desk. 

“When do we leave?” Luna interjected before another verbal battle began.

Laying the parchment on top of his desk, Snape crossed his arms and glared. “According to the letter’s post-script, which you were not privy to read, this correspondence will become a Portkey in five hours, allowing time for you to gather your things and return here.” He looked at each one in turn, hesitant to impart the last bit of information due to the restrictions. “If you complete this task…” He trailed off, rubbing his left temple to ease the tension headache that had started to throb there as his pain potion began to wear off. “If you complete this task, then I’m in a position to release us all from Dumbledore’s oath—but only if you return.”

“That’s not at all a reassuring way of putting things, Headmaster,” Luna pointed out. “You could have phrased it differently.”

He scowled fiercely. “I’m so sorry to upset your delicate sensibilities, Miss Lovegood, but seeing as I had no choice in the matter of whether you were to go or not, I thought to spare you any surprises. Pardon me for expressing concern, it won’t happen again, I assure you.”

“What exactly are we dealing with here, Severus?” Draco asked the question on everybody’s mind.

“I don’t remember giving you leave to call me by my given name, boy!”

The blond man stood, matching Snape for height. “Oh, come off it!” He glared mutinously. “If our lives are at stake, I think we deserve the right to know the risks.”

“I agree.” Hermione echoed his sentiments. 

“Dear Merlin in Avalon,” Snape swore. “Did Granger actually agree with Malfoy?” He looked at the ceiling. “I’m waiting for a thunderclap to let us know the world is going to end.”

“That’s funny,” Luna sniggered. “Personally, I think it’s all that unresolved sexual tension between them that makes Hermione and Draco argue, Headmaster. Irritating at times, but amusing to watch and it helps their relationship grow.”

Everyone just stared at her.

Both aggrieved parties protested… loudly.

“I am _not_ trying to make anything _grow_ on Malfoy Junior here!”

“Miss Buck-toothed Brainiac? Are you serious?” Draco scoffed. “Of course not. I mean, consider the source! Trelawney has nothing on Lovegood’s dystopian outlook.”

“Buck-toothed?”

“Junior? Granger, there’s nothing junior about me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re a right prat, you know?”

“I’d say takes one to know one, but that would be an insult to my sex!”

“ _Enough_!” Snape shouted, his voice reverberating off the stone walls. 

Draco finally seated himself while Harry inquired about expenditures. “Sir? Are we to be reimbursed for this trip?”

“I’ve been told by Kingsley that, should you finish this mission with satisfactory results, your recompense would be… _substantial_.”

“But I don’t need—”

“Malfoy, finish that sentence and I’ll reveal some rather unsavoury details of your current situation,” Snape said in warning, looking down his nose at his former prized pupil.

“Slytherin git,” Draco muttered under his breath.

“Have no doubt.” 

“How long will are we required to research the area?” Hermione asked as she sought to open the book, filing away the information about Malfoy and his _situation_ for a later time.

“You have a month to evaluate and report your findings, as well as any possible solutions to the American Wizarding Society.”

Draco paled. “A bloody month?” 

“You have some other business to be about?” Snape questioned, his tone laced with threat.

“No… _sir_ ,” he mocked. 

“I thought not.” Resuming his seat, the dour wizard stared at the four sets of eyes that were looking at him curiously. “Well? Your time began expiring the moment I said ‘Portkey’,” he barked. “I suggest you make the necessary arrangements.”

Luna demurred with a polite smile and left the room. Harry pulled Hermione to the side, and engaged her in a heated conversation, while Draco approached his fellow Slytherin. 

“What did you say to the Ministry that allowed the rest of my probation to be commuted?”

“Merely that you were the best apprentice that I’d encountered and that your expertise would be an asset.”

Malfoy said nothing to the contrary, only nodding, since false modesty really wasn’t his style. “And the conditions I must fulfil?”

The Headmaster’s eyes snapped to his. “Complete the required task,” he hissed low, sliding a pouch to the blond man, “and your family’s assets will be fully restored.”

A frown creased his brow as a previous insecurity gripped him. “What if I can’t complete… the task?”

“Let’s just say I won’t be there to clean up your mess this time, Draco.”

Straightening, he smiled wanly. “Understood, sir.” With a look over his shoulder, he noticed that Potter and Granger were still having a greatly animated discussion, and clutched the leather bag in his fist, feeling the contours of several phials within the satchel. 

“Malfoy,” Snape said softly, “take a portable Pensieve with you.” He directed his gaze to the item in the younger man’s hand. “You’ll know when to use them.” 

Glancing at the bag, Draco nodded and, without another word, left the chamber, presumably to head back to his quarters in the dungeon. 

“You may waste the Ministry’s time, Mister Potter, but you may _not_ waste mine,” Snape bellowed to the bickering pair, causing them to startle. “Go as you are or leave to pack, those are your options.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry mumbled, dragging Hermione with him to the door.

“Sir, may I keep the book?” Hermione pleaded, clutching the tome to her chest like a lover, as her best friend tugged on her sleeve.

“Could I stop you, Miss Granger?”

“Well, I thought… I mean, I just wanted… uhm… no,” she finally finished, knowing full well if she wanted the book she’d do anything to obtain it.

Snape waved the Gryffindors away, sighing in relief when his office door snicked shut, falling back into his chair and pouring himself a healthy dose of Ogden’s finest from his private stash. He then raised his glass and saluted the door through which his former students had left.

“Death’s road we all must go.”

~*~

“Why in Merlin’s toenails would they want to build a centre of operation here?” Draco asked no one in particular as he studied the remnants of a lengthy tunnel nearly hidden by the foliage. 

Staring off to her right, Luna shook her head, her body shivering in response to the energy enveloping the place. “I don’t think this is where the AWS wants to break ground. I believe the Portkey has been tampered with.”

“How do you know?” Hermione shucked off her backpack and searched for the map Snape had provided them, courtesy of Minister Floohart.

“Our destination point was supposed to be…” Luna glanced at her notes and frowned. “In the centre of the pentagram, near Wilson Hall.” Looking up, she watched as the treetops swayed in the gentle autumn breeze, leaves scattering around her ankles. “That’s miles away from here.”

“There’s some kind of writing on the face of the tunnel,” Harry told the group and they all narrowed their eyes to read the eroded script. “Moonville.”

“Never heard of it,” Draco stated absentmindedly as he began searching for a way up the steep grade, throwing his own rucksack to the side so he wouldn’t topple from its weight. Except for the Pensieve—which had a magic of its own—he couldn’t shrink its contents due to the restrictions in place for this particular trip, and he thought it damned inconvenient that he was forced to dress and act like a Muggle while in the area. Wasn’t it enough that he had to respond with, “How high?” when the Ministry asked him to jump?

“You’ve never heard of any of the cities on this map, Malfoy,” Hermione taunted him. 

Not to mention that being saddled with the likes of the infuriating know-it-all, the dozy chit with moon-eyes, and the bloke who irritated him the most, was getting on his very last nerve. He turned and advanced on the Muggle-born. “Listen here, Mud—erm, Granger.” He stumbled over the insult, trying for once to play nice, because he didn’t want word of his behaviour getting back to the Ministry. “At least I know Athens is a—”

“Vortex of spectral and ethereal energies,” Harry whispered harshly as he moved closer to the group, his wand at the ready.

“Potter,” Draco hedged, snatching his pack from where he’d thrown it, “what are they?” He quickly joined the other three as they huddled together. 

Surrounding the four were about a hundred beings, slowly closing in on them, varying degrees of malice etched on their faces. Some wore outdated clothing and some had barely a stitch covering the pale expanse of their skin. The four stood back to back, creating a circle and facing each direction, wands out. 

“Are they Inferi?” Hermione murmured, her eyes darting around, trying to study exactly what they were dealing with.

“No,” Harry clarified, “Inferi are basically Zombies. These look a little too… erm…”

“They’re ghosts,” Luna supplied, though she made no move to lower her stance. “But unlike ones I’ve ever encountered before.”

“Do you encounter ghosts often?” Hermione asked in a shrill voice, turning her attention in several directions. “I mean, we encountered them daily at Hogwarts, but these look a little…”

“Brassed off,” Harry finished for her, sending a non-verbal hex at the being closest to the edge of the clearing. It flowed through the spirit and ricocheted off the tree behind it with no effect to the advancing ghoul. 

“If we look at this logically, there has to be a perfectly acceptable explanation as to why these paranormal ectophantasms feel they are displaced.” Hermione gripped her wand tighter when her fingers became sweaty.

“Shut it, Granger!” Draco snarled, firing his own curse at the crowd, only to have the same results as Potter. “We’re here to get rid of their spectral arses, not start a group therapy session due to afterlife abandonment issues.”

“You’re an unmitigated prick, Malfoy!” she hurled back at him.

“Fight later, guys!” Harry roared, turning his head to glare at the two covering his back. He didn’t know whether to feel safe that he had two powerful people protecting him, or nervous that they might start hexing each other willy-nilly. “We’ve got a job to do.”

“There’s so many.” Draco peered into the eyes of the bedraggled soul nearest him. “They look corporeal to me, Lovegood… are you sure they can’t hurt us?”

“Normally, I’d say yes, but this isn’t a normal situation, so your guess is as good as mine.” She tried several complex spells to disperse the crowd into smaller, more manageable groups, but like with Draco and Harry’s efforts, nothing happened. “Definitely not a normal situation.”

A train whistle rent the air in an unearthly scream, startling the group and the ghosts alike. A single lamplight originating from the opposite entrance of the tunnel caught their attention, the beam swinging from side to side, while the sound of a locomotive’s steam pistons became louder.

“We might want to move,” Hermione warned, staring at the misty image of tracks under her feet which began to vibrate.

Draco glanced down. “Brilliant, Granger. Our options are being crushed by the approaching train or being molested, possibly mortally so, by a bunch of malcontent apparitions.”

“You forgot the Sasquatch,” Luna informed them, pointing to an area past the ghost horde.

“Kumquat?” Draco tried looking over his shoulder. “Gods, what is that stench? Did one of you forget to bathe for a month?”

“Shut your gob, Malfoy.” Harry’s voice was a growl, as he tried to shift the group to their left. “I don’t see anything, Luna.”

“It’s gone now, but it could be advancing through the vegetation.”

“Cheery thought.” Hermione panicked; the train’s approach was louder and almost upon them.

Draco, who was facing the tunnel, started backing up, hooking his arm with Hermione’s on his right. “The lantern light is getter closer.”

She turned her head and followed his gaze. “Is that the conductor?”

“No one’s holding it.”

Hermione’s hairs stood on end. “We need to leave this area now!”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Wrapping his arms around Hermione’s body, Draco side-along Apparated to a different location, leaving Harry and Luna to stare dumbfounded after them.

“Bloody typical, Malfoy!” Harry shouted to the thick air, his voice echoing off the tunnel walls. 

“Hold on,” Luna warned the bespectacled man before she repeated the same procedure, flinging them both to an uncharted region.

Three seconds later, all was quiet in the place they’d vacated, a light breeze the only thing stirring the dead leaves.

~*~

“If you don’t let go of me this instant—Oof!”

“What?” Draco looked at Hermione irritably. “You said you wanted me to let go of you.”

“I didn’t think you were going to dump me in the middle of…” Her voice trailed as she took in her surroundings, shuddering involuntarily. 

They were inside a dilapidated building, white paint peeling off the walls and fading sunlight filtering through the dirty windows that stretched nearly from floor to ceiling. The air was dank with mould and stale with disuse. Pieces of broken furniture were scattered throughout and several groupings of graffiti littered the walls.

She scrambled to her feet and dusted off the dirt on her jeans from where he’d dropped her on the filthy floor. “Where are we?” 

Glancing around the room, he muttered, “I’d say _Hell_ , but I wouldn’t know the difference since you’re still here.”

“Bite me,” she shot back.

He looked her over. “No, thank you. You may give me some Muggle disease or something equally horrible.”

“Afraid you’ll get rabies?”

“What are _rabies_?” 

“A disease. But don’t worry,” she said with a snort. “Only warm-blooded animals transmit it. I think we both know you’re safe on that account.”

Stepping into her personal space, Draco looked down his nose at her. “Just so you know... I’m _very_ warm-blooded.” He inched closer. “So why don’t you shut that yammering trap of yours and figure out where we are.”

Her cheeks flushed at his innuendo. “You should know where we are; you Apparated us here!” she said in a hiss that was equal parts frustration and accusation.

He closed his eyes in irritation, counted to five and then smirked. “Check your bag.”

“What’s in my—”

“Ah!” Draco snapped. “No questions. Look. In. Your. Bag!”

“I loathe you.” Setting her pack on the floor, she dug around inside, quickly starting to panic when she couldn’t find the book she’d _borrowed_ from Headmaster Snape. “Where is it?”

Tugging his sleeves over his fingers, he extracted a heavy tome out of his own sack, the locking mechanism that kept it closed clearly broken. Carefully, he opened it, pulled out a pamphlet that had rested between the cover and end leaf, and held both the book and flyer out to Hermione. 

“This is where we are,” he said with a smug grin. 

He’d relieved her of the precious volume that had been stuffed in a bag slung over her shoulder, just before they’d left the castle, as he’d followed her and Potter at a discreet distance while Disillusioned with them none the wiser. He’d quickly deduced she’d never been able to open the thing, and had set to breaking the heavy wards protecting it from unwanted eyes. 

She glared at him. “You stole my book.”

Rolling his eyes, he shook the thick volume at her. “Do you want it or not?”

Grabbing it from him, Hermione shoved the larger book back in her sack and studied the small booklet, comparing it to the room they were in. Everything was the same, including the way the light streamed in through the windows. She had to give him credit; when Malfoy thought of an Apparition point, he had every detail lined up. But then, she read the caption that accompanied the non-moving, Muggle photograph. 

“You kleptomaniac dungeon troll!” she accused, flipping through the rest of the pages and scanning the floor.

“Hey!” he cried, affronted. “I got us out of that sodding mess back there, and all you can do is hurl insults at your saviour? You’ve got some nerve, Granger.”

Folding back one of the pages, she thrust the picture in front of him. “You Apparated us to _The Ridges_!”

He blinked. “So?”

“Read it.”

Grabbing the flyer from her, he began reading out loud. “The Athens Lunatic Asylum—or _The Ridges_ as it is now commonly known—was a mental hospital operational in Athens, Ohio from eighteen seventy-four until nineteen ninety-three. During its operation, the hospital provided services to a variety of patients including Civil War veterans, children, and violent criminals suffering from various mental disabilities. It is best known as a site of hundreds of the infamous lobotomy procedure, as well as various paranormal urban legends.”

Looking up, he glanced at her and shrugged. “And? So they cut up the nutters’ brains and now they see ghosts.” He handed her back the pamphlet. “There’s no conclusive—”

“Keep reading.”

“One particularly haunting aspect of _The Ridges_ is the famous stain,” he said with a resigned sigh. “On December first, nineteen seventy-eight, a fifty-four year old female patient named Margaret Schilling disappeared. She was found dead six weeks later on January twelfth, nineteen seventy-nine, in a seldom used part of the hospital on the top floor of ward N-20.” Draco stopped at this point and looked around the room, bypassing Hermione’s irritated glare. 

“Once her body was removed,” he continued, “her outline appeared impressed on the floor, revealing even her hairstyle and folds of her clothing.” His gaze darted immediately to the cracked concrete floor, his eyes widening when they fell upon the white outline of a human figure clearly visible and etched into the hard surface. 

“Ah…” He cleared his throat several times. “Its appearance is not scientifically impossible, because it may have been caused by the decomposition of her body in reaction with direct sunlight from the window.” Draco scanned the position of the windows in correlation to the imprint, and then returned to read the conclusion. “But the stain was repeatedly cleaned, and always reappears, and can still be seen today. Some say the ghost of Margaret Schilling and others who have died in the hospital wander the halls at night.”

He quickly handed back the booklet to Hermione, wiping his sweaty palms on his Muggle jeans to prevent her from seeing how bad they shook. “All right, so I didn’t read up on where I was Apparating us to,” he groused. “I just pictured the photograph in my mind and I took us there. Pardon the hell out of me!”

She ignored his half-arsed apology and continued thumbing through the pages until she stopped. “Wait… if we’re here, where are Harry and Luna?”


	2. Chapter 2

“You look rather handsome with grass in your hair,” Luna observed, looking upside down at Harry, who lay sprawled across a tombstone.

“Erm, thanks,” he replied, blowing a piece of said greenery off his nose. “Where are we?”

Luna scanned the length of area. “I believe we’re in a cemetery.”

Harry tilted his head back and looked at the broken stone behind him. “Yeah, I got that.”

She bent over the marble and flicked the remaining blades from his black locks. “I think we’re in the asylum cemetery.” 

“Asylum?” He gingerly sat up, noticing that the autumn sunset was gorgeous with streaks of crimson and orange painted across the sky. “Is that good?”

“Not really,” she answered frankly. “It’s quite haunted.”

“Don’t hold back on my account,” he muttered, dusting himself off. “Have you been here before?”

“No.” She wrapped her pink and black plaid coat around her to ward off the chilly evening air. “But before we left I found some information online at the Muggle library and a picture of this area was included, so I figured it had to be safer than where we were earlier.”

“How _much_ safer?”

“It’s all relative, really.” She shrugged. “Would you rather face a hundred wrathful spirits converged in one place or just a couple, spread out over several acres?” 

He grimaced. “Are those my only options?”

“Yes. We have to find Draco and Hermione.”

“Where are they?”

“I’d say somewhere nearby, if I know Hermione... or in this case Draco.” She walked a little ways until it looked like she came to an invisible barrier. “I can’t see either one of them agreeing to this trip without first finding out all they could about the place.”

Harry had the same opinion. “Are they safe?”

She stayed silent for a few moments. “As safe as you and I are.”

“Great,” he said sarcastically. “Instead of getting even more lost out here, don’t you think we should make our way to Wilson Hall and regroup there? I mean, I know they can take care of themselves, at least Hermione can.”

Returning to Harry and taking his hand, Luna led him through one of the perfectly aligned and straight rows of unmarked graves. “We have to find them because they have the book.”

“The one from Snape’s office?” asked Harry, frowning. “From what I saw, there was nothing but runes on the front. They looked like the symbols on the book that Dumbledore—”

“Willed to Hermione,” the blonde finished for him. “She has to translate it so that we know what to do when we get to Wilson Hall.”

Tripping over a grave marker, Harry swore. “Bloody Malfoy!”

It was almost fully dark now, and Luna cast _Lumos_ to light the fading way to a copse of trees near the edge of the graveyard. “We need to find shelter soon.”

Looking over his shoulder, he tugged on her hand. “Why not back there, at that large brick building? Seems we could get in there somehow.”

Glancing to the massive, gothic manse, Luna bit her lip. “That place is evil and worse than being in the presence of Voldemort,” she whispered. 

“You’re joking,” he scoffed. “Worse than Voldemort?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You weren’t his _guest_ for several months,” she retorted. 

“No, I just carried a piece of his fucking soul inside me all my life!” he yelled, dropping her hand to march in the opposite direction, towards the immense structure.

“Harry, no!” she shouted after him, running to catch up. “You can’t go in there; that’s _The Ridges_!”

“So?” He kept walking, not bothering to wait for her. “It’s dry, provides shelter, and I bet I can find something to Incendio and create a fire to keep us warm.” 

Finally reaching him, Luna grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him to a halt. “You…” She panted, trying to catch her breath. “You can’t… go in there,” she said, wheezing. “You won’t come out.”

“What? Tonight? Why would I come back out tonight?”

Shaking her head, she laid her hand on her chest, her heart beating rapidly against her fingertips. “No, Harry.” She steered him back towards the path they were originally on. “You won’t come out… ever.”

~*~

“What are you doing?” Draco asked lazily, munching on an apple he’d stolen from her knapsack.

They were sitting in the area called ‘The Ballroom’, where there was a spacious floor plan and old, wooden chairs lining the walls. Several marble pillars supported the lofty crumbling ceiling while high windows capped with arches graced three sides of the room. Some of the windows were missing panes of glass, allowing the cool night air to seep in and chill its occupants—which until then had for years been among the non-living.

Hermione was situated at the base of one of the columns, valiantly trying to stay warm in her turquoise blue with chocolate coloured tie-dyed top and blue jeans, failing miserably. “T-taking notes,” she stuttered through chattering teeth. She’d conjured a Bluebell flame and encased it in an old beaker they’d found in one of the other wings of the building, to use as a light source. After that, however, her spells had seemed to go a bit wonky.

Finishing the fruit, he chucked the seeded core so that it landed on the other side of the room. “Why don’t you cast a warming spell?”

She looked up from her scribbling. “I-I c-c-can’t.” While the flame allowed for some heat, it was not nearly enough to keep anybody warm.

Rolling his eyes, he stood with a huff and strolled over to where she sat, plunking himself down beside her. He then withdrew his wand from the sheath strapped to his side. “ _Incendio_ ,” he murmured, pointing at a stack of broken chairs. A brief spark of light issued forth but then fizzled to nothing. 

“Bloody hell!” he growled, flicking his wand several more times with the same result: nothing. “What’s going on here?”

Taking out her own wand, she copied his movements and spells with no deviation. Again the result was disappointing: not even the tarp flung over the piano moved. “I’ve m-made some calculations, taking into account the p-period between the autumn Equinox and Samhain, plotting our v-vector, grid pattern, l-longitude and latitude using a c-c-complex Arithmancy model, and I-I’ve—”

“Stop!” he commanded, holding up his hand to forestall her further ramblings. “How is it you can’t concentrate enough to cast a simple spell, yet you can work out some meaningless drivel about who knows what, without so much as blinking?”

Scrunching up her nose, she scooted away from him. “It’s _not_ meaningless drivel, Malfoy.” 

“All I heard was your incessant bleating,” he observed, leaning against the pillar on the opposite side. 

“If you’d actually p-paid attention to where you Apparated us to, then we wouldn’t—”

“Baa, baa,” he said mockingly, then sniggered at her indignant huff.

There were more than a few moments of tense silence when neither party wanted to give in and admit that the room had indeed cooled several degrees, but when he heard her teeth chattering again, Draco rolled his eyes, stood once more, and moved to sit close to her.

“W-what’re you doing?” 

He budged up next to her small frame. “You know, when I agreed to this little assignment, I at least expected a nice, warm bed at the end of the day and a few meals thrown in.” 

Wrapping her arms around her shivering body, Hermione puffed out wisps of frosty air. “S-s-so did I.” She tried moving away from him, but he stopped her.

“We’re going to freeze to death if we don’t keep warm, Granger,” he pointed out. “If we huddle together, we have a better chance of surviving the night.” He pulled her back to her original spot. “Personally, I want to stay alive so I can hex Severus’ arse to oblivion for this little ‘mission’, but I need you in order to do that.”

A mischievous look crept into her eyes. “I’m s-sorry, could you say that again?” She batted her lashes and smirked.

“I need you in order to do that,” he said through gritted teeth. She opened her mouth as if to say something else, but he held one finger aloft to cut her off. “Don’t push it.”

“F-fine.” She looked him up and down. “How do you want to do this?”

Draco didn’t answer her. Instead, he unzipped his oversized hoodie revealing a long-sleeved black tee with white skulls and scroll work imprinted on it. Earlier, they had taunted each other about the Muggle clothes they were forced to wear to try and fit in, while she’d snorted with laughter and said he looked exactly like an Emo college student, complete with size twelve Doc Martens. All he’d been missing had been thick, black eyeliner and a couple piercings. He’d promptly given her a two-fingered salute and retorted that she looked like mint chocolate-chip ice cream with her ridiculous girly top, and he hoped the local nasties took a bite out of her the moment they laid eyes on her. 

He spread his upraised legs wide, patting the space between them. “Sit with your back to my front.”

Her jaw dropped. “I’m not cosying up to you that way!” she spat. “I’d rather—”

“Do something incredibly foolish to save your prudish sensibilities!” The words came out in a hiss, as he grabbed her arm and pulled her between his legs despite her thrashing. “And I swear, Granger, if you hit me in the bollocks, I will bare your arse and make it so that you won’t _need_ warmth of any kind!” 

“Oh, you abhorrent pig!” She squirmed in his grasp, dropping the book to lie open on a page that contained an illustration and rune-like text. 

His grip tightened when he caught a glimpse of the image. “Who is that?” he whispered. He thanked Circe when his tension transferred to her and she stilled.

Warily, she picked up the book and scooted back against his body, forgetting her previous distaste at such an action. “From what I’ve translated so far, this is a description of _The First Born Son_.”

“Lean back,” he said softly, his attention riveted to the tome. “Balance the book on your legs and I’ll turn the pages after I zip my hoodie over us both to keep the heat from escaping.”

Nodding, she did as he instructed and was immediately embraced within the warmth of his jacket and body, sighing with relief when their combined heat spread through to her hands in her lap. “Be careful, it’s a Dark Object,” she warned. “I’ve already burned one of my fingers just trying to touch the paper.”

Though she couldn’t see his face, Draco grimaced heavily as he studied the hideous volume. “That’s because it’s not paper.” 

“What is it then?” She bent forward to examine it closer, but he pulled her back into his chest. 

“Don’t.” He enfolded her in his arms and held fast. “It could cause further damage if you literally poke your nose into it. It’s human skin.”

“How do you know?” She shuddered in revulsion. “Have you seen this book before?”

Did she have to smell so damn enticing? Just because he’d not had a witch in a year or so didn’t mean he needed to cosy up to the first one that was within proximity, especially if it was Hermione Granger. Shoving her curls to the side, he rested his chin on her shoulder, trying to read the text in the miniscule light given by the Bluebell jar. 

“It’s been in Severus’ personal collection since the war, but not before.”

Her cheeks flamed with his nearness. “How do—”

“I just do, alright?” he said with a faint threat. “I tried to read it once, but he caught me as I tried to open it and hexed me something fierce.”

“Ouch,” she said in commiseration. 

“Yeah, miserable bastard.” He moved nearer, scanning the symbols. “To be honest, he’s been pretty wretched since the end of the war.” Laying his forehead on the top of her shoulder, he breathed, “I don’t think he expected to live.”

Tears misted Hermione’s eyes as she bowed her own head. “And I expected Ron would.”

He didn’t need to be looking at her to know she was crying. It was in her posture, the subtle shakes of her frame, the minute sniffles as she wept. He hated that she mourned Weasley. What if it had been _him_ who’d perished, who would’ve mourned him? Only his parents, that’s who, but they were dead as well—killed in the final battle.

Burrowing closer, he acknowledged the need for mutual comfort in the wake of so much destruction. “I’m sorry,” he offered quietly.

She tensed but didn’t move away. “What for?”

“Damn it, Granger,” he whined. “Can’t I just be sorry?”

“You’ve never been _just_ sorry. Not unless there was a mitigating factor.”

“Okay, fine. The mitigating factor in play here is this: We’re stuck in the middle of Merlin knows where, there’s nasty boogles about, and it’s bloody frigid which means we’ll probably die from hypothermia before said boogles scare the living daylights out of us.” 

“And that means what, exactly?”

“You may not be into easing your soul’s burden, Granger, but I’ve got more than a lifetime of offenses weighing on my conscience, including killing my lunatic aunt.”

She turned slightly to look at him. “Are you trying to say you want absolution for your sins, Malfoy?”

“Whatever you want to call it,” he muttered, gripping her chin and facing her forward so she wasn’t staring at him. 

Bloody hell… was she crying again? Her body shook as she doubled over, which in turn caused him to bend as well since she had the hoodie material wrapped around her. He didn’t know what to do with weeping females! Should he console her or shake her more than she already was? Both ideas vanished the moment she made a sound.

Laughter. Bellowing, gut-wrenching, laughter. 

Oh, he hated her. Here he was, about to pour out his transgressions to the one person he thought would understand because she’d seen it all from the beginning, but she was laughing at his pain. It would be the first and last time he’d let down his guard.

Movement off to his right spurred him to cover her gaping mouth with a wide palm; immobilising and silencing her in one go. “Don’t move,” he hissed.

Panting breathes escaped from between his fingers, but she nodded. Slowly, she followed Draco’s gaze, her gasp swallowed by the warm flesh pressed against her lips.

Standing in the entrance to ‘The Ballroom’, was a male child no more than nine years of age, dressed in a dingy gray pair of trousers and equally ragged shirt. His light-coloured locks hung lifelessly to his shoulders and his eyes stared hungrily at the couple, as he smiled maliciously, revealing crooked teeth. There were several puncture marks along his forehead, a dark substance dripping from them, and Draco could only guess that it was blood since the boy was so far away. 

The child winked out of sight, only to reappear just as suddenly, five feet in front of them, brandishing a long, metal rod with sharp edges at one end, and eyeing Hermione in particular. 

Draco glanced down at the page showing the sketch she’d explained earlier, then back to the boy. “I’d say that’s _The First Born Son_.”


	3. Chapter 3

Ducking under a low-lying branch holding scarlet-red maple leaves, Harry reluctantly followed Luna through the forest in search of shelter. “What did you mean back there? About not coming out ever?”

Her brown corduroy trousers got snagged on a bramble bush, causing her to stop to release the material from the thorny bush. “Have you ever heard of the _Bocca del Inferno_?” 

Seeing that she was having problems, he bent low and tugged the fabric loose, pricking his thumb in the process. “No,” he replied, watching the blood well on the pad.

“Don’t let that fall on the ground!” she warned, grabbing his hand and promptly stuffing the digit in her mouth, sucking away the crimson fluid.

Harry stared at her, dumbfounded. “W-what are you doing?” he managed in a hoarse voice, actually liking the sensation of her tongue lapping on his finger. 

Eyes fluttering, she withdrew his thumb, gave it a cursory glance and let him have his hand back. “You shouldn’t spill your blood on these grounds,” she advised. “It would cause your soul to be irretrievably bound to the place.”

He was still staring at her. “How do you know all this stuff? And what the hell is the _Bocca del Inferno_?”

“The ‘Mouth of Hell’.” She blinked away her brief stupor and turned to continue along their path.

“Luna!” Harry shouted after her. “You need to tell me more than that.”

Heaving a sigh, she plopped herself down on the first fallen tree log she deemed safe enough. “I assume you know the folklore and histories of many cultures regarding the Underworld, right?”

“Not really, only the Muggle ones,” he answered with a shrug, sitting beside her. “But I’m sure you can enlighten me.”

“I’ll tell you, but you should really take it upon yourself to study these things,” she admonished gently. 

“You’re starting to sound like Hermione.”

“Hera forbid,” she laughed. “I love Hermione dearly, but she is quite the termagant and a bit supercilious.”

Harry wisely said nothing regarding this, not wanting to take sides against either friend. He’d had enough of that with Hermione and Ron in the past. “So…”

“There are several _Bocche del Inferno_ all over the world, but I think the one here, which is inside _The Ridges_ , is the largest one in the United States.” She began making swishing arcs with her wand, even though it was still softly pulsating with the low light of her Lumos. “I didn’t realise that it was an entrance until we’d been displaced by the Portkey.”

“The one that had been tampered with.”

She nodded. “ _Bocche del Inferno_ tend to negate magic of all sorts, including Apparition, like a Muggle black hole. Each of them consumes all the energy within the area to be used for its own nefarious purposes, and throws everything off balance.”

“If we’re so close to the place, then how come we haven’t lost use of our magic?” he asked curiously.

“I wouldn’t say that’s exactly true,” she disputed. “Keeping this Lumos charm going is quite draining.”

Removing his own wand, Harry tried to cast his own Lumos, but, other than a few sputters and sparks, nothing happened. “Shite.” He tried again with Incendio, but produced the same results.

“It’s okay,” Luna consoled, patting him on the shoulder. “We just need to get away from this place before something worse happens.”

Shaking his wand as if that would make it work, he growled in frustration. “What could possibly be worse?”

A piercing scream echoed in the chill night air around them, sending shivers up both their spines. 

“What was that?” he whispered, looking off in the direction of the cemetery they’d just left.

Luna hopped off the log and tugged him after her. “It could be John Simms, the hangman, one of his victims, or Death itself.”

“What?” He stopped her. “You mean to tell me the Grim Reaper likes to call this place home? I thought there were more than one of these ‘Mouth of Hell’ things.”

“There are. The one in Bucharest is particularly harsh and the origin of many legends.” She continued on, insistent that they leave.

“Wait!” he hissed, grabbing her by the arm. “I want answers!”

She shook him off and glared. “The _Bocche del Inferno_ lie pretty much dormant because it takes years to amass the kind of energy it requires to open them. Sure, they emit the stray spectre bent on destruction every now and then, like a hiccup, but truly harmful or dreadful things don’t happen until they absorb so much power that a gateway to Hell itself can be opened.”

Narrowing his eyes, Harry studied her pinched face. “Do you know why we were sent here?”

“No,” she answered quickly. “But I think one of us is the catalyst to finally open this gateway.”

His eyes widened. “How would that happen?”

“Only with a horrific death.”

~*~

The malevolent child stood before Draco and Hermione, slapping the metal rod upon his free hand in an intimidating manner, and smirking at them. “I want to play,” he whispered and disappeared once more.

Hermione moved her legs so that the book fell between them and slammed shut, before scooting back into Draco, who was just as wary. “Where did he go?”

“Do you really want to know?” He unzipped his hoodie to release her. “We need to leave this room.”

Both stood, and, just as Draco zipped his jacket, the boy reappeared, standing to his right. He had no time to react when the child swung and embedded the saw-toothed edge of the rod into Draco’s thigh, his screams bouncing off the rafters.

“Draco!” Hermione shouted, watching him crumble to the floor in agony, as the boy disappeared again.

Clutching his now bloody leg, Draco groaned with pain, but still managed to extract the weapon from his flesh. “Fucking blighter!” Once it was free, he flung the contraption across the room and tried to stand, only to fall from the pain.

“Sit,” Hermione ordered, tearing off the hem of her shirt. Twisting it, she wrapped it around his thigh, several inches above the wound. “This should keep you from bleeding out.”

He nodded. “We need to get out of here, _now_.”

Hooking his arm over her shoulders, she grabbed both of their packs and helped him hobble to the doorway. Suddenly remembering the Bluebell jar, she turned only to see the flames flicker briefly and then die, the beaker having been smashed in the tussle. “Damn,” she grumbled.

“What?”

“The Bluebell fire has died, and I can’t conjure another one.”

“I think we have more important things to worry about than that useless spell,” he grunted. “Let’s go.”

Poking her head out into the hallway cautiously, she looked left and right, finally deciding to take a left and follow a long corridor to a more habitable place. They made their way down the linoleum-floored hall until they reached what looked like a reception area where several green vinyl benches were scattered about. 

Easing Draco down onto the lime-green padding, Hermione examined their surroundings. “This looks like a lobby of some sort,” she mused aloud.

“Try the door.” He jerked his head towards the enormous iron gates that closed off the front foyer beyond.

Out of habit she used her wand, and, like before, nothing happened. “This is unbelievably frustrating,” she said with a growl, almost giving in to the need to stamp her foot. Waving her hand in front of the iron, she tried several non-verbal spells to no avail.

“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results,” he observed, laughing somewhat at her continued use—and failure—of spells.

“Where on earth did you learn that?” she asked incredulously. 

He pointed to a large wood and polished metal plaque that hung above the door. “Apparently, Albert Einstein said it.”

She followed his gaze to the plaque. “Wildly inappropriate, but interesting.”

He scowled in pain. “Why inappropriate? And who is this Einstein fellow?”

“He was a Muggle scientist,” came her reply as she tried to pry apart the rusted-shut gate with her hands. “Several Arithmancy theorems are based on some of his work.” Giving up on that avenue, she examined the hinges that were bolted to the wall. “And it’s inappropriate because mental illness is very serious and that quote was just flippant.”

“Granger…”

“Not now, Malfoy,” she grumbled, standing on tip-toe to remove one of the hinge pins. “I’m rather busy at the moment.”

“Granger!” he yelled this time, garnering her attention. “We have company.”

She whirled around, expecting to see the evil child again, but was shocked further when she heard something dragging itself down the hallway and moaning. Peering around the corner, she covered her mouth to keep from retching. 

It was the torso of what looked like a man, wrapped in cellophane, his arms and what remained of his legs, all that was visible. The thing walked on its hands, stopping every so often to reach out and drag a sizable mass to its side. Upon further inspection, Hermione realised said mass was the head that belonged to the body. 

“What is it, Granger? I can’t see from my position,” Draco complained.

Backing away slowly, she shook her head. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“Is it in this book?” He pulled the heavy tome from within her sack and carefully turned the pages with his ineffective wand.

Hermione sat beside him and hefted the volume into her lap, using the same method of turning pages as Draco had. She gave the hallway a sidelong glance to see the body meander into view. The particular ‘spirit’ didn’t seem malicious, and she felt pity for the poor soul who’d ended this way.

“Zeus’ bollocks!” Draco shrieked, as the thing lumbered past them. “What the hell is it?”

“It is literally called, _The Torso_ ,” she murmured, scanning the text and conferring with her notes. They watched it disappear down the corridor they’d just come from.

Peering over her shoulder, he looked at the page. “How can you read any of that?”

“In Dumbledore’s will, he left me a book full of ancient runes.” She made a mark on her notepad with a Muggle pencil. “After translating that, this was considerably easier, but there’s more of it.”

“I saw other sketches in there,” he said. “Whenever I tried to open it, it was like Severus could feel that I was tampering with it. He’d always catch me before I could even crack the cover, but I learned how to handle it by reading other Dark Texts on how to do it without killing myself.”

“How did you know the pages were made with human skin, then?”

Darkness entered his eyes. “Father used to have a book like it, but it was always encased in glass, never to be touched. I asked about it once, stupidly thinking I could handle it, even if my father wouldn’t.” He looked away. “He became nervous and said that I was to never open it, or my life and soul would be bound to it.”

“Draco…” she began hesitantly. “I’ve opened this book, and other than a few singed fingers, I feel no pull or manipulation from it. It’s just a creepy book.”

Pushing himself to a wobbly, upright position, he sneered down at her. “That’s because I was the first one to open the damned thing, Granger!”

“What do you mean? I opened it while we were in the…” She trailed off, a look of horror etched on her face. “You stole the book from me before I could really get a good look at it.” She stood and grabbed his arm before he toppled over from weakness. “But what about Severus? Surely he’d opened the book—”

“He avoided the cursed thing like Dragon Pox,” he hissed, white hot pain originating from his wound and shooting up his right leg. “The wards on that thing were so heavy it’s a wonder I was even able to do break them. I was a fool to do so.”

Strengthening her grip to keep him steady, she gazed at him with something akin to pity. “Why did you take the book, Draco?”

Flinching at the emotion gathering in her eyes, he turned his attention elsewhere. “So you wouldn’t be the one bound to it.” 

Tears misting her vision, she bit her lip. “Thank you,” she whispered in heartfelt gratitude. She didn’t think berating him for such an action would go over well, and he was already in distress.

He cleared his throat and thinned his lips. “So, what else does that book tell us?”

Retrieving the tome, she opened it to the title page. “According to this, it is the book of the Dark Zodiac.” Turning back to the page featuring the child that had accosted him, she indicated the symbol underneath the sketch. “He represents Aries, the first sign of the known zodiac.”

“Puerile Trelawney shite, if you ask me,” he muttered, finally collapsing to the bench again.

She snorted in response. “Normally, I would agree, but this has nothing to do with Trelawney.”

“Expound, oh wise know-it-all,” he teased, his speech somewhat slurred. 

“Draco?”

He looked at the worried expression on her face. “What?” Sensing her hesitation, he waved her off. “I’m fine, Granger… just find a way to get out of here.”

Giving him a dubious look, she carefully turned the page with her wand. “Completion of the Dark Zodiac marks the opening of the…” She squinted at the next term. “ _Bocca del Inferno_.” Tapping the end of her wand against her temple, she murmured something under her breath. “The Mouth of Hell.”

“That’s comforting,” he drawled, slumping further onto the bench. “Granger…” he managed between pants.

“Oh God, Draco!” She dropped the book on the floor after one glance at his state. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“Yeash…” His slur became more pronounced. “`M `bout ta run a bloody marathon.”

“Snarky even while bleeding out,” she muttered, leaving him in the lobby to go in search of something to help with the slow but steady blood loss. She stopped in the middle of the corridor, her own words giving her pause. “No,” she told herself, seething, “he will _not_ die.”

Cautiously, she poked her head into what looked like patient rooms, some even complete with outlandish drapes, decrepit bedding, and horrible carpeting riddled with holes. In one of them, however, she spied a wheelchair with movable leg plates. Perfect. Grabbing the handles, she wheeled the rickety chair out past the door, but soon returned to the room which seemed in better shape than most. 

She opened drawers, searching for anything that could be used to fix his leg or stem the flow of blood. One held dead pigeons, so she shut it quickly, pressing the back of her wrist to mouth to keep from being sick. In another she found medical instruments of a medieval nature, positively barbaric in design. About to give up, she opened the bottom-most drawer and found a Muggle iron.

Snatching it, she deposited it on the seat of the chair, and went back inside to rummage in the kitchenette drawers this time. She concluded that this must have been an employee’s room since there were no locks on anything and it resembled a tiny flat rather than a padded cell. Opening one of the cupboards above the sink, she found what she was looking for: a box of matches.

“He may hate me even more after this,” she muttered to herself, wheeling her collection back towards the lobby.

~*~

Making sure Hermione was gone, Draco sat up and dug around in his knapsack for the portable Pensieve Snape had told him to bring. He was somewhat surprised it still worked, what with the loss of their magic, but Pensieves were notoriously resistant to drainage of any sort. 

Still rummaging through his knapsack, he spared a guilty thought for Hermione, who was alone in another room, trying to find a way to patch him up. It wasn’t like he was purposely deceiving her about his condition, but he needed to see the memories… without her sticking her bushy head in the bowl with him. His thigh did pain him quite a bit, that much was true, but the little nutter hadn’t nicked a bone or a major artery with his _toy_ , so he felt pretty confident that he’d keep his leg. He found the leather pouch containing the phials, and withdrew them as well.

Magic really was amazing, he mused. The Pensieve retained its normal size and shape, but did not spill even a drop, ready to receive the memories he held in his palm. He selected one and looked at the writing on the glass. _Bargain_ , it read. He chose another. _Horcruxes_. Finally settling on the one labelled, _The Beginning_ , Draco dumped the milky fluid into the swirling depths of the stone bowl, dipping his head past the watery surface. Immediately, he was thrust into Snape’s memory of the night Dumbledore died. 

_Following his mentor, Draco watched as he eased the Headmaster’s suffering by way of a potion, instead of the Killing Curse Draco himself had contemplated on using. The scene ended and faded into another, and he now observed Snape sitting in a chair, tending to the latest wounds a pack of Death Eaters had visited upon him, since he was no longer in Voldemort’s confidence._

_The dark wizard poured a jar of some potion or another, hissing and nearly biting off his lip to keep from screaming when it frothed and bubbled on his skin. Once the concoction had served its duty, Snape wiped down his arm with a clean cloth, tossing the material in the fire after the mess was gone. He Accio’d a tumbler full of Ogden’s best, tossed it back in one gulp, sniffed and rubbed away the sweat on his upper lip with the back of his wrist._

_“Fucking Dumbledore,” Snape muttered to the fire. “Never telling anyone where anything is!”_

_Draco could only speculate on what his mentor was grumbling about as he watched Snape roll up his left sleeve to stare at the writhing Dark Mark. He knew full well that it only moved when there was a summons from the Dark Lord and so it had to have been causing the man wretched agony. On impulse, Draco moved to ease his suffering, but cursed rather loudly when his hand went right through Severus’ illusion. Stepping back, he sighed in frustration and continued to watch._

_Refilling his glass, Snape paused momentarily, the rim pressed against his lower lip. “How could I have been so foolish?” Dropping the tumbler, not caring where it landed, he made his way to his ‘private’ study, hidden behind several heavy wards and two stone walls. He quickly perused the titles, stopping every two or three books as if to recollect the information each one held. Finally, he came to a metal box upon a podium._

_He cast several spells on his hands and then gently began opening the container. Once the lid was lifted, the four sides fell away, revealing a book that looked to have originated with time itself. Instead of turning the pages, the Potions master circled the item on the pedestal, eyeing it carefully and stroking his jaw with his thumb, a mannerism that always indicated he was in great contemplation._

_Wondering why Snape didn’t just open the damned thing, Draco wandered over and looked at it for himself, confused as to why the man hesitated. There was nothing especially menacing about the book, other than it was exponentially more hideous than the one currently in his and Hermione’s possession._

_“Dare I?” the dour wizard pondered aloud._

_His arm must’ve pained him again, for he gripped it as if there were a thousand knives slitting his veins. At least, that’s what Draco felt every time his own Dark Mark rippled on his flesh. Apparently, Snape had made up his mind and stood in front of the volume, wordlessly lifting the cover to turn the pages without touching it. The velum flew by until it stopped just short of the lower cover, causing Snape to step back a bit._

_“Tribuo mihi meus votum,” he incanted while still clutching his left forearm._

_An eerie white light filled the room, blinding Severus, and subsequently Draco. This lasted for several minutes, subsiding only when Draco heard him let out a blood-curdling scream. When it was dark once more, the blond removed the arm he’d placed over his eyes to protect himself, blinking rapidly to acclimate to the pitch blackness that covered the room._

_The book was no longer resting on the stand. Instead, in its place lay a piece of parchment, smoke rising from it due to words being written by what looked like searing embers, the bright orange-red script fading to black once it had cooled. Draco wanted a better look at the writing, but the paper was snatched from his view, tightly rolled and placed in a cylindrical leather carrying tube by Snape. Draco’s gasp at the appearance of his former professor was the last thing he heard or saw before being thrust out of the Pensieve._

Sitting back against the wall, he breathed in and out deeply for a few minutes to reconcile himself with the last image of Snape. He didn’t know what had caused his appearance, but the Potions master’s eyes had become crimson red, blood trickling from the corners to make their way down his skeletal looking face. The normally sallow skin had been almost bleached white, like bones that had been left in the sun to dry. It was like he had aged before his eyes to little more than a walking corpse. 

Had that been the reason he’d hesitated? Thinking back, Draco would’ve tossed the damnable thing out the window before opening the book, feeling a modicum of pity for the poor soul who did manage to open it, if that’s what it did to the reader. He coughed and rubbed his eyes, then slid the Pensieve back into his backpack, knowing Granger wouldn’t be gone for much longer. 

As if on cue, she came whirling around the corner, pushing a beat-up chair with wheels, the moment he secured the buckle. “Found something that should help,” she said panting, out of breath. 

“What’s all that?” he asked, giving the assorted items on the seat a dubious glare.

“Stuff,” she murmured evasively, depositing a Muggle iron, a box of matches, and a couple strips of questionable linen on the pad beside him.

“Granger…” he growled, not liking the determined look in her eye. 

She thinned her lips in frustration. “Look, we need to close that wound on your leg before you lose more blood.”

He glanced at the objects again and quickly calculated what she wanted to do to him. “No!” he roared, scooting away from her.

“It’ll stop the bleeding.”

“I don’t care!” he said, snarling at her. “I’d rather die than—” He stopped midsentence, his attention riveted somewhere over her shoulder. 

Noticing his eyes widen, combined with the hairs on the nape of her neck standing on end, she surmised another member of the Dark Zodiac was behind her. “What is it?” she all but whimpered, biting her lip.

“Come towards me… slowly,” Draco ordered, holding out his hand.

Doing as he asked, she grasped his hand and let him pull her to sit with him on the bench, both of them now staring in horror at the woman swinging from a rope that was tied to the cross-beams of the ceiling. As she swung, they could see that her wrists had been fastened behind her back with some kind of wire cord, her obvious nurse uniform spattered with red, and her neck covered in bruises that didn’t look like the work of a hangman’s noose. Slowly, the mangled woman spun, looking directly at them on each pass and smiling. 

“Which one is she?” Draco prodded, elbowing Hermione into action. 

“U-uhm,” she stuttered, retrieving the book and flipping through the pages until she found the image that corresponded to the sight before them. “She must be _The Bound Woman_.”

“Aptly named,” he snorted. He darted his eyes to the wheelchair, which was positioned right below the woman’s hanging feet, and mentally tallied how long it would take for him to grab it and go. “Think you can get me in that contraption before she takes more of an interest in us?”

“I’m on it.” Taking the items she’d previously confiscated, she put them in her bag, slung it over her shoulder, then did the same with his pack. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” He looped his arm around her waist and she drew him up to a standing position when the woman was facing the opposite direction. 

Hermione unceremoniously dumped him on the seat of the wheelchair just as the bound nurse made another turn, her heated gaze targeting Malfoy. “I’m going to break you,” the woman promised. She promptly lashed out with her foot, which connected with his nose, his blood instantly spurting everywhere.

“Go, damn it!” he yelled, his hands covering his sinus area to try and stem the outpouring of warm fluid. 

The Hermione wasted no time before backing the chair up, swivelling it around and taking off as fast as she could down another corridor.


	4. Chapter 4

“Hold still, you big baby.” Hermione chastised Draco, dabbing at the blood still flowing from his nostrils with one of the pilfered bandages.

“I have an idea,” he ground out, his voice sounding nasal. “Why don’t I kick _you_ in the face and see how you feel, hmm?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “And that’s after I try to hack your leg off with a rusty saw.”

“Drama queen,” she muttered under her breath.

“Bitch.”

She gave him a particularly harsh jab to his abused face while cleaning the crusted matter from his cheek, watching him wince in anguish. “Oops. Sorry.”

He shoved her hand away. “Yeah, you’re sorry all right. Sorry her foot didn’t make it through to the backside of my head.”

Throwing the dirty linen on the floor, she stood, hands on hips. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Prickly, whiney, overly dramatic, sullen…” She placed her palm over her heart. “Oh, my God… you’re starting to act like Snape!”

“I stand by what I said before: _bitch_.”

“Unimaginative, sneaky, selfish—” Her tirade was cut short when he fisted her shirt and brought her face to eye-level with him.

“I’m prickly when know-it-all’s stick their wands where they’re not wanted.” He tugged her closer. “I’m whiney at this moment because I’m in excruciating pain, not that you care.” Wrapping more of her shirt material around his fingers, he caused her to kneel before him where he sat in the chair. “I think being chased by otherworldly psychopaths is not an overly dramatic situation, and you’d be sullen too, if you were stuck here with the likes of you!”

“Draco I—”

“As for unimaginative,” he snarled, paying no attention to her wide-eyed expression. “Why should I let you see how creative I can be when all you do is mock me hatefully?” He snorted, his lip curling in that familiar Malfoy sneer. “Of course I’m sneaky; I’m a Slytherin, remember? It goes hand in hand with being selfish, and—”

Soft lips were suddenly pressed against his in a chaste kiss, effectively shutting him up. 

Well. That was unexpected. He could tell she hadn’t had much experience kissing anyone, which made him wonder if she was still a virgin, but it wasn’t an altogether unpleasant sensation. Her lips were supple, though a bit worn where she would constantly chew on them. Even though they’d been on the run most of the night, her skin still tasted sweet, like crisp apples. He didn’t dare deepen her tentative exploration, curious as to where she would go on her own, idly wondering if she found the flavour of his blood to her liking.

After a moment, she drew back, her cheeks visibly flushed even in the low light that crept in from the outside. “Say something,” she whispered, twisting her fingers in nervousness.

He cleared his throat and frowned, pursing his lips. “I think we need to talk after this is all said and done.”

She turned her heated face away. “I’m sorry… I-I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Were you just trying to keep my mouth busy so I wouldn’t complain, or did you have other reasons?” he asked with a smirk.

Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she stood and made her way over to where she’d laid their packs, digging around in hers and ignoring his question. “We have to get a fire going.”

His eyebrows rose into his hairline. “I said no, Granger!” He tried shifting the chair away from her, but he couldn’t get the damn wheels to move. Looking down, he realised there were metal bars embedded in the rubber on the wheel rim, effectively stopping the chair from going anywhere.

“Malfoy,” she said impatiently, “we have to cauterise that wound before it becomes infected.” She looked at their surroundings. “And in this place, that’ll happen in no time.”

“It’s barbaric!” he protested, trying to unlock the wheels. 

“We’re in a barbaric place! Drastic measures are called for.”

Finally unlocking one side, he spun in a circle in a vain attempt to escape her intentions. “Leave off!” He paused, then panted his next words. “I’m not letting you brand me, like Voldemort did!”

She had the grace to look ashamed. “I’m not doing this to keep you bound to me,” she murmured. “I only want to help.”

He wiped his face with his hand. “Look … I know you’re only doing what you think is best.” His voice was quieter now, placating. “But this is my life, my body, not yours.”

“I won’t let you die,” she ground out. She proceeded to gather the odd pieces of wood that lay scattered about, breaking them into manageable portions and placing them in a pile near his chair.

“That’s not your decision to make.” He watched her go through the motions of starting a fire, the tears lingering in her eyes as she tried, and failed, to light the first few matches.

Beyond curious as to her reasoning, he questioned, “Why does it matter if I live or die?”

“Because I have a duty, same as you, to protect the Wizarding world,” she answered quietly with a sniff. She rubbed the stray tears from her eyes with her filthy sleeve, leaving a black smudge across her cheek and nose. 

“Is that all?”

“Isn’t it enough?” Retrieving a scrap of paper from her pocket, she tore it in half, placed it underneath the wood, and lit a match. Her eyes widened when it caught fire, bringing the kindling to life, and she gently blew on the heated material to keep it going.

“No, it’s not.” He shifted in the seat, growing increasingly uncomfortable at the strength of the fire. “Why does the fact of whether I live or die affect your duty to protect the Wizarding world?”

“You’re as much a part of our world as anyone else.” The admission was whispered as she yanked off the cord to the Muggle iron and set it on the flames. “Hence the protecting of you.”

“That’s the lamest excuse I’ve heard in ages.” 

“Well, it’s the only one I’m prepared to give you,” she replied forcefully. “You’ll need to take off your jeans.”

“What?” he thundered, gripping the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white.

“Unless you want the cotton seared to your skin, you’ll have to take off your jeans,” she pointed out, oblivious to his discomfort. “Don’t worry; you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

“Sod off, Granger!”

“Fine, have it your way.” 

Burnt flesh versus cotton fibres embedded in said burnt flesh, only to be extracted at a later date. She had a point and he knew she wouldn’t give up, harping on the subject like a Hippogriff gnawing on a meaty bone, never stopping until it was devoured. Unbuttoning the first rivet, he tried not to let her see how badly his hands shook, while he continued down until he reached the last one. 

“I’ll need your help getting them off,” he muttered, trying to shove the waistband down past his hips. 

Thankfully, she said nothing to this, only nodding and standing to do as he’d asked. Taking hold of the fabric, she urged him to move. “Can you lift your bum?” 

Hefting his torso up, he balanced his weight on the arms of the wheelchair while she pulled his jeans down to where he could sit and not impede her work. She then gently peeled back the material that clung to his wound, cringing when she heard him whimper. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be; just get on with it!” he half-said, half-growled through gritted teeth. “Talk to me so I’m distracted.

“Okay...” She chewed on the side of her lower lip. “Tell me about your ‘situation’ that Snape mentioned.” She searched through her pack for something to wrap her hand in, seeking to remove the now glowing, cherry-red iron from the fire.

“That’s not what I had in mind!” His brow was covered in perspiration even though it was dreadfully cold. “And my lack of funds is none of your damn business.”

She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “Fine. You’re broke until the Ministry lets you go,” she surmised. 

“How the hell did you know?” He stared at her, narrowing his eyes.

Seeing that he was good and distracted by his irritation with her, she quickly stripped the trousers from his abused skin, treating them like a stubborn plaster. The denim now hung on his knees and he breathed in sharp bursts to bear the pain. Hermione debated whether to sear the wound now or let him calm himself, but she ultimately decided on the former when his eyes rolled. 

With his head tipped back, she grabbed the iron and quickly pressed the hot plate to his jagged flesh, his torturous screams of agony echoing down the long corridors.

~*~

“This looks safe enough,” Harry told Luna, peering inside the smallish cave.

She stooped to examine his finding. “Hello?” she called, her voice floating into the inky darkness. 

“Is something in there?”

Withdrawing, Luna shook her head. “There could’ve been. This area is heavily populated with black bears, bobcats, and lacewing cockle hooters.”

“Cockle hooters?” he queried, wondering just what kind of animal they were.

Smiling, she nodded. “They’re nocturnal.” Stepping inside the entrance, she made herself comfortable on the bed of dried grass and leaves. “They search all night long for owl hearts, which is their favourite meal, never coming back to their lair until they’ve had at least five.”

Sitting beside her, he scooted close to keep warm. “Why five?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m guessing it has to do with their five stomachs.” She shrugged and laid her head down on Harry’s shoulder, yawning. “You should try and sleep for a bit, before they come back.”

“The lacewing cockle hooters?” he asked hopefully.

“No, the spirits.”

~*~

“Draco?” Hermione whispered. He’d passed out after screaming himself hoarse, before she’d removed the iron plate from his skin. “Draco?” she said again, a little more forcefully. “Wake up.”

A moan was all she got. Narrowing her eyes, she raised her hand and slapped him across the cheek. “Draco!” she yelled.

“Gods damn it, woman!” he roared at her, sitting bolt upright. “Haven’t I been abused enough?”

She had the unmitigated gall to laugh at him. “I think you like it.”

Excruciating pain enveloped his entire right thigh, causing him to study her handiwork. “I have impressions of holes branded onto my leg, Granger!”

Lifting the offending item from the floor, she showed him the now cooled iron. “It couldn’t be helped.” There were several sets of small punctures on the metal, which had made his skin take on the appearance of a Muggle golf-ball. 

“Help me get my jeans back on, I’m freezing my bollocks off,” he demanded, lifting himself up as he’d done earlier. 

“Maybe you should let it breathe,” she started to suggest, but wisely changed her mind when she took in his glare. “Or maybe not.” 

“I’d say not.” 

“Pushy prat.”

“It’s because of you that I am reduced to this. Need I remind you?” he hissed at her, pointing to his thigh. 

“You’re never going to let me hear the end of this, are you?” She slowly pulled his jeans to their previous position, and let them hang loosely around his hips, for him to finish the rest.

“Never,” he assured her, buttoning the last of the rivets. “When we get back, I’ll send you a message every day, saying how gruesome I look because you decided to take out your frustrations on me while I was incapacitated.”

“That is so not how—”

“My, do I hear sheep bleating again?” he taunted with a smirk. “Baa, baa.”

“Bastard!”

“Ah, no,” he replied. “For all that my parents were, they were at least married before I came along.” He crossed his arms. “Try again.”

Instead of rising to his bait, she gave him a bright smile, shook her head, and left him sitting in the middle of the hallway they were in, while she retrieved their packs, and walked around the corner and out of sight.

“Granger?” he called, wondering where she’d gone, and starting to get irritated when he heard nothing. “Granger, answer me!” 

For more than a few minutes, he listened intently for signs of her return, but after hearing nothing more than the wind howl through broken glass, he figured she’d really gone ahead without waiting on him. Biting his lip, he pushed himself out of the chair and bore weight on his injured limb, surprised when the pain was substantially less than he expected. She’d done her job quite well.

 _She_ also let out a scream at that moment, her voice originating from far away, that raised the hairs on his neck. “Damn it!” he shouted. “Where are you?”

Hobbling along, he followed the sounds of her cries towards what he could see was a wide open area with thick horizontal stripes painted on the walls, a wooden desk facing the dark corridor he was currently walking down. As he made his way into the hall, he passed steel doors that laid flush with the walls, a knob with a bolt lock on each. Was she in one of these chambers?

“Hermione?” 

“Draco!” she cried, further down the hallway. 

“Keep talking so I can find you.” He hopped quickly as she babbled nonsense about Crookshanks and his need to eat the stuffing out of her sofa cushions. “There you are.”

She was huddled in a corner at the very back of the area, her hands shielding her face and head. He reached out to take a hand, but paused when he saw that they were covered in scratches. Bending low, he gently touched her crown of frizzy curls so as not to startle her.

“What happened?”

Burrowing further into herself, she sobbed, “I-I don’t know.”

“Come on, let’s get you up and out of here.” He took her left hand and pulled, gasping when she came into full view. “My God, what happened?” he asked again.

She was covered in claw marks, as if a wild beast had attacked her. Her face had long gashes on her forehead, cheeks, and chin, thin rivulets of blood marring her complexion. Her clothes had fared no better; several rips were evident on the bodice, one wide enough to give him a glimpse of her bra. 

He cupped her jaw and forced her to look at him, demanding to know. “What happened, Hermione?”

“It came out of nowhere.” She sobbed, hiccupping to catch her breath. “I-I was trying to find a better place for us to s-stay when this-this _thing_ showed up and started mauling me.” 

Without thinking, he pulled her into a firm embrace and kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay. We’ll just have to be more careful.”

She stiffened in his arms, and he belatedly wondered if it was because he was holding her or for the kiss, but he soon realised it was for another reason altogether. “Move, now!” she whispered gruffly.

Turning, he saw what must have attacked her. It could only be described as male because of something abstract about its upper body physique, but that was where the similarities ended. He was wrapped from neck to thigh in a loose straitjacket, the arm straps swinging to and fro, leaving his claw-like hands free. A pair of soiled and torn grey trousers covered his bottom half, but it was his head that sent real fear through Draco. 

Encasing its head was a cubical metal cage, the bars near his mouth ripped wide open. Inside, a monstrous face with razor-sharp teeth and stringy black hair, glared hungrily at them. His eyes were white, like dying coals, burning the couple with hatred as he advanced on them.

“Run while I distract him,” Draco commanded, pushing her to the side. There was no other way to get past the ghoul who had them backed into a corner.

“No!” She shook her head. “I won’t leave you here!”

“Oh, you’re not leaving me here, Granger.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I plan on following you.”

She hesitated, bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet. “I-I can’t leave—”

“Don’t wait for me!” he shouted, causing her to jump and run like a rabbit. 

The creature made a move to follow her, but Draco yelled and waved his hands in the air. “Over here, you piece of shit!”

The thing sized Draco up and licked its lips. It then smiled at the blond and turned to pursue the woman it had attacked earlier, cackling madly all the way down the hall.

“Fuck!”

The wizard ran after it, trailing the insane ghost as best he could, for the spectre would evaporate once instance and appear closer or further way in the next. He hoped he reached Hermione before something truly dreadful happened.

~*~

“Harry.”

“Mmmh.”

“Harry, wake up.” 

“Whatsit, Luna,” he muttered groggily. 

“This isn’t a lacewing cockle hooter cave,” she whispered, holding his hand tightly.

“It’s not?” He scratched his head with his free hand. “What is it, then?”

She nodded in the direction of the entrance. “It’s a woolybooger cave.”

“What the bloody—”

A menacing snarl was all it took for him to know what a woolybooger had in mind, regardless of what it was. “What does it like to eat, Luna?” he asked, his voice pitched high.

“Would you be terribly upset if I said humans?”

“Yes, horribly upset.”

“Oh. Well then, I suppose you’ll have to forgive me.”

Grabbing his hand, Luna rushed towards the entrance at full speed, knocking over the lumbering giant that stunk to high heaven. She didn’t stop, nor did she let Harry falter, even when the crashing in the underbrush faded away.

~*~

“Granger!” Draco yelled through cupped hands, scanning the shadows for her slight form. “Show yourself!”

Nothing. 

He gingerly traversed a set of stairs, mindful of his leg, until he reached a landing that allowed him to head in three different directions. Which one should he take though?

“Granger?” he called again, hoping that she would answer. “Hermi—” He abruptly strangled his shout when he saw a curvaceous woman strolling his way, completely naked, and… holding a rather wicked-looking knife. 

When she came fully into view, he could see multiple slashes on her own body, especially around the breasts and face. There were longer slices on her arms and legs, but not as many, as though the cuts were placed methodically. Her eyes looked like they were drowning in blood, as almost red enough to match the colour of her limp hair. The pout of her lips was abnormally large and Draco wondered if she’d had something done to them before death. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, slowly stalking him.

Gulping, Draco nodded in acknowledgement, backing away. “Sure, I’m sorry, too… for what happened to you.”

She followed his retreat. “I’m sorry,” she said once more. In the blink of an eye, she embedded the blade in the right side of his chest.

~*~

Hermione could hear Draco calling out to her, but she dared not answer. If she did, she would certainly be found by… by… _it_.

Managing to evade the phantom thus far, she crouched low under some wooden doors that had been propped up against the wall, covering her mouth to keep from crying in fright. She could hear its snuffles, like those of a wolf scenting its prey, and was finding it hard to imagine what kind of ‘human’ that person had been in life.

When Draco’s calls ceased, so did the snuffling menace. Tears welled in her eyes as she battled with herself on whether to poke her head out or stay where she was hidden. Needing to know Draco’s whereabouts eventually pushed her to crawl out of relative safety minutes later.

Making her way as silently as she could, Hermione stuck to the shadows while navigating a path to where she last heard Malfoy. She anticipated that something would trail her, but she didn’t expect to run into something head on.

“Wahhhh!”

“Dear Merlin,” she breathed.

Standing before her was a man of enormous size, more than twenty-one stone if she had to guess, clothed in only a soiled diaper and bib, looking like a caricature of an overgrown baby. He soon showed his true disposition when he hefted a sharp axe and brought it down to land inches from where she stood. 

Backing away slowly, she acted the way she had when she first met Grawp, Hagrid’s brother. “Nice man-baby…” Another step back. “Mustn’t play with sharp things.”

She almost missed the other entity due to its size, but the man-child fiercely gripped the diminutive woman’s hand protectively, whining as it tried to free the embedded hatchet. The crone’s height didn’t even reach the hips of the massive giant beside her. It disturbed Hermione greatly to see the hag pat and stroke the man’s hand in a soothing manner, as if to say that his actions were justified. 

“Want dolly!” the man cried, pointing at Hermione, his wails reverberating off the windows and walls.

The miniature female turned to look at the frazzled witch, smiling malevolently. “Mamma will get you your dolly, Harold.”

Mamma? That dwarf was this giant’s mother? Hermione’s jaw dropped in shock then promptly closed when the woman lifted the same axe her son had previously used, and chucked it directly at her. It missed her by an inch. 

Sprinting as fast as she could, Hermione ran towards the main set of stairs, halting at the top to see Draco lying on the landing, his right side covered in blood.

~*~

“I… think we… can stop… now.” Harry panted hard. 

“Oh!” She came to an immediate standstill, causing him to nearly plough her over. 

“Give a bloke some warning, will you?” 

“Sorry,” she said under her breath. “Normally I would, but woolyboogers are abnormally fast, though they have the intellect of slugs.”

Bending over from the stitch in his side, Harry braced his hands on his knees. “I gathered that.”

She stared off in the distance. “We’re back where we started from,” she stated dejectedly. 

“That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“It’s not great.” 

Laying a hand on her shoulder, he squeezed it gently. “Call me crazy, Luna—”

“Crazy Luna,” she replied, smirking somewhat.

He tugged on one of her braids. “Brat,” he teased good-naturedly. “What I was going to say was, what if Hermione and Draco were inside _The Ridges_? Maybe we’re supposed to get them out.”

“That’s the better option, I’d say.”

“Than what?” he asked, frowning in confusion.

“Than that.” She pointed at the dark figure moving towards them.

~*~

“No, no, no!” Hermione sobbed, holding Malfoy’s head in her lap. She didn’t dare remove the knife implanted in his chest for fear of causing further bleeding. “Draco?” she whispered, lightly tapping his cheeks.

“Told… you to… leave off…” he said between groans.

“Draco!” 

“Not… burning m’chest,” he slurred, trying to turn away from her. 

She stopped his movements. “No, Draco, it’s Hermione. I’m not going to burn your chest this time.”

He flopped back to his original position. “Slag stabbed… me.”

“Who?”

“Tits McCutlery.”

Her snort of laughter caused him to smile lopsidedly. “I need to get our packs,” she said quietly. “Do you think you’ll be okay while I—”

“No!” he spat out, reaching up to clench a fist in her hair. “Don’t go.” 

“Draco, we’re lost without our stuff.”

“He’ll… hurt you.” He let go of her locks, too weak to hold on.

Bending low, she pressed a kiss on his forehead. “No. I’ll hide.” She stroked the damp strands from his brow. “I promise I won’t get hurt.”

“Promise…” he murmured before succumbing to unconsciousness.

Tenderly lifting his head off her lap, Hermione made him as comfortable as she could in the shelter of an unused patient room, laying him on a mattress that she found on a set of old box springs. She kissed his cheek and slipped out of the room, praying to anyone that listened for her to make it there in one piece, and for Draco to remain alive.

~*~

“Are you the next guilty soul to swing from the Devil’s noose?” the hooded wraith asked in an unearthly tone that held several layered voices, some male, and some female. 

“I beg to differ,” Harry countered. He took Luna’s hand and shoved her behind him. “We have business to be about. Let us pass.”

Wicked, maniacal laughter filled the cemetery. “Foolish mortals.” The figure floated closer. “Tribute must be given.”

“What’s the toll?” Luna asked over Harry’s shoulder.

“Your soul.”

~*~

Hermione thanked the powers-that-be profusely for letting her make it to the ward where they’d dropped their bags without being accosted. When she slung Draco’s pack over her shoulder, she noticed for the first time that it was exceptionally heavy. The knowledge-hungry Gryffindor, and woman, that she was wanted to know why. But not there. No, not in _that_ area.

Quickly, she made her way back to Draco who was still dozing quietly, and thanked the powers once more for keeping him safe. Making sure he was sound asleep, she settled beside him and unbuckled his knapsack, shocked to see a Pensieve within. That bastard!

She pulled it out, its shimmering waters twinkling in the moonlight shining through the dirty glass of the windows, and dug around in his bag for… Ah ha! Retrieving the pouch, she extracted the phials, reading each one. Looking over at Draco, she chose the one labelled, _Bargain_ , and poured it into the bowl. Dipping her head forward, she entered the mystery person’s memory.

_It was a rainy night in Diagon Alley, and people were bustling about under their umbrellas to stay dry—all except a lone figure who strode away from the crowds toward Knockturn Alley. Hermione knew she needed to follow that person, the memory compelling her to move in his direction though she had no clue as to who it was._

_She watched as the scrawny man paused before a door that must’ve led to an underground chamber, gasping when he turned and she beheld Snape’s emaciated face. In all the years that she’d known the professor, never once did he remotely resemble the person standing before her now._

_Looking to the left and right, Snape discerned that it was safe to descend the steps to the door, and closed it quickly after he’d entered. Fast on his heels, Hermione followed him down a spiral staircase to another door, observing that the Potions master moved much like he was in a trance, his movements very deliberate._

_He knocked one time on the door and a voice from within told him to enter. He opened the door and stood as if awaiting instructions, his hands clutching a leather cylinder like a lifeline._

_“Mister Severus Snape,” a male voice cooed from the deepest shadows, “I never thought to see you requesting my services.”_

_It seemed as if the trance was broken and Snape became more himself. “I gave it much consideration, believe me.” He held out the cylinder._

_Emerging from the darkness, an exceedingly handsome, sandy-blond man, dressed impeccably in a cobalt-blue suit with a scarlet dress shirt appeared, snatched the container, and vanished it._

_He then held out one hand in introduction. In the other, he carried a walking staff much like Lucius Malfoy’s, except, where the infamous snake head would have resided, there was an upturned dragon’s claw, clutching a fist-sized crimson orb. “I’m Nicodemus Floohart,” he said with a grin. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”_

_Floohart! Hermione’s mind whirled. The American Minister who wanted… But wait. The American Minister wasn’t named Floohart, it was… Dear Merlin! She now remembered it was Alexander Thornbush who was the Minister in America, not that-that…_

_“So, Mister Snape,” drawled Floohart. “What is it you desire?”_

_“Specifically or generally?” Severus asked evasively._

_Floohart waggled a finger at him. “Ah, ah, ah, Severus.” He came forward and stood toe-to-toe with the Potions master. “I am in no way to be trifled with.” He cocked his head and smiled at him as if he were his oldest friend. “You summoned me for a wish; I am here to grant it—end of story.” He reached out and straightened Snape’s robes. “Let’s not bandy about the bush, shall we?”_

_Hermione’s mouth was slack. No one ever spoke to the imposing wizard this way, especially a stranger. Creeping closer, she perked up her ears to listen in on a once in a lifetime event._

_“Specifically, I want to know the location of each and every Horcrux, barring the one residing within Potter,” Snape said in a deceptively calm voice, “as well as how to destroy them.” He crossed his arms defensively. “Generally, I want this war to be over.”_

_Caressing the sphere on the tip of his cane, Floohart nodded. “It’s a tall order, but doable.”_

_Snape raised an eyebrow. “Doable?”_

_“Achievable, possible, feasible, attainable… within my capabilities,” Floohart iterated with an icy glare. “Are those words in your vocabulary?”_

_“Quite,” was Snape’s short answer._

_“And my payment?” Floohart asked, licking his lips._

_At this, Snape seemed to pale even more. “What is it you wish?”_

_Floohart shrugged. “Nothing much.”_

_“In your words, Nicodemus, let’s not bandy about the bush. What is it you want?”_

_Maniacal laughter filled the room and Floohart cupped Snape’s cheek. “I like you, old boy.” He gave the dark wizard a hearty slap. “My kind of scum.”_

_“I’m not—”_

_“Oh, but you are, Severus,” Floohart purred, nuzzling the other man’s neck. “Before this is over, you will be worse than the faeces on Judas’ arse. Once a traitor, always a traitor.”_

_Purely by habit, Hermione covered her mouth when she gasped at the man’s language. She’d earlier detected no perceivable accent or dialect that could be attributed to any region in the world. He was aggravatingly neutral. She was shocked further when the handsome man pulled Severus in for a deep and lingering kiss._

_When he pulled away, there was blood on both men’s lips, with Nicodemus giving the Potions master a feral smile. “Deal.”_

_Deal? What kind of deal? She didn’t hear any kind of terms or payment exchanged! This was unconscionable, this was—_

_“How the Devil works, Miss Granger.”_

_She startled so badly she nearly fell over. Within Snape’s memory, this Nicodemus Floohart was speaking directly to her. Impossible! She was just—_

_“Imaging things? I assure you that you are not.” Floohart languidly strolled to where she stood, his tongue lapping up the fluid on his lower lip. “You have… possibilities,” he drawled, looking her up and down._

_“How can this be happening?” she asked. “This is a memory.”_

_Casting a glance over to a rigidly still Snape, he smiled wanly. “I can do as I wish.”_

_“But this is—”_

_“If you say impossible, young lady, I will draw and quarter you.” He patted her cheek affectionately. “Then I’ll put you back together and do it again.”_

_She couldn’t help herself, she shook so badly. “What did he agree to?” she whispered._

_Circling behind her, Floohart pressed himself against her, binding her between his staff and body, while grabbing her chin with his free hand and directing her gaze to her former professor. “See him there, just now?”_

_She nodded._

_“I will give him a book.” He ran his tongue around the grooves in the shell of her ear. “In five year’s time, I will send a missive that he cannot ignore, demanding that he send his best to me with that book.” Her silent crying made him smirk against her cheek. “From those best, the book will choose one and complete my Dark Zodiac, opening the _Bocca del Inferno,_ and releasing me from this wretched existence in Limbo.”_

_“Which one of us?”_

_“I thought about Potter, but he’s much too tainted. That upstart, Riddle, soured him and I don’t need anyone competing with me for a throne that is already mine.” One of his fingernails elongated and began dotting her chin with marks. “Lovegood is too pure. There’s nothing more I hate than a goody-two-shoes.”_

_Able to pry her jaw open, she ground out, “You can’t have Draco!”_

_Floohart moved his hand away from her chin, twisted it in her long hair, and pulled viciously. “But I already do, my foolhardy maiden.” Again, her sobs were like music to him. “You can’t stop it now.”_

_“What happens if your little plan falls through?” she managed to grit out._

_The force holding her in place became heavy, a great weight crushing the life out of her. “Should that happen, and I’m not saying that it will, the last five years would be undone and you would all be back at square one, still dealing with that overblown imp, Voldemort.”_

_Struggling was useless against someone, or something, like him, but her mind worked feverishly to find an alternate solution. “A trade?” she posed._

_The pressure was eased as Floohart released her, and walked around until he faced her. “Explain.”_

_Rubbing her sore throat, she rasped, “Which member of the Zodiac are you missing?”_

_“The Torn Prince,” he supplied. “Apt, don’t you think? Draco is the Prince of Slytherin, is he not?”_

_She nodded and coughed. “Could you make due with a Princess?”_

_“Let me think on it.” Floohart strode from one end of the room to the other, pausing to flick Severus’ hooked nose and laugh at his own maliciousness. Finally, he returned to stand before her. “I believe we have a deal, Miss Granger.”_

Closing her eyes, Hermione was thrust from the Pensieve, back into the horrible nightmare that awaited her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Sacrilegious rumblings in this chapter, folks. If you're offended easily, look away now. 
> 
> Many thanks to Andrei for help in the Latin translations!

“I’m thirsty.”

Hermione glanced at Draco and nodded, before rising from her position beside his mattress. “I’ll see if there is anything suitable to drink.”

Watching her leave, he struggled to sit upright, but the blade moved a tad deeper when he shifted his right arm. “Stupid bint.” The curse was meant for the unknown tart who’d impaled him.

Reaching for his sack with his left hand, he stopped suddenly when he saw that his Pensieve and phials lay in shambles on the stone floor. “No!” he whispered in horror. “I need those!”

“No, you don’t,” Hermione answered listlessly from the doorway, holding a beaker filled with a questionable fluid.

“What have you done?” He wanted to rage at her, but her haunted look and his gaping wound made it unlikely that he’d be able to finish ranting without slumping over.

Handing him the jar, she sat on the end of the mattress, far away from him. “What I needed to do.”

He sniffed the contents and gulped it to the back of his throat, hoping to avoid the bitter taste. It didn’t work. Gagging and coughing, he panted for air. “What… did you… need to do?”

Turning to gaze at him, she reached over the distance between them to cup his cheek and brush her thumb over his bottom lip. “Don’t worry yourself over it.”

“You’re starting to worry me, and that’s saying a lot.”

She gave him a teary smile. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Gripping her wrist as tight as he could, he pulled her close. “What have you done?”

Carefully, she laid her forehead against his. “It’ll be all right, in the end. I promise.”

Damn it, what had she done? He needed to see those memories! He gathered the situation was dire if she looked both determined and defeated at once. But why? “Hermione,” he rasped, “tell me what you’ve done. Please? I don’t want to be left in the dark.”

“You won’t be,” she assured him. “When this is over, you will always be in the light.”

“You promised to stay safe.” The challenge was uttered hoarsely. He was not going to cry! The more he fought it, though, the more it threatened to overtake him completely. 

“We can’t always keep our promises.” She kissed him on the cheek, nuzzling him.

Threading the fingers of his left hand through her tresses, he closed his lips over hers, seeking entrance to her sweet mouth, pouring everything that he was into a soul-deep kiss that refused to end. “I won’t let you break your promise,” he breathed against her skin.

Peace descended upon Hermione in that tender moment, as she pulled back and stared into his grey depths. “You don’t have a choice.”

~*~

“Look, I don’t mean to sound arrogant, or anything,” Harry told the approaching phantom, “but you’re not the first otherworldly dictator to want my soul.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “You see I still have it.”

“Insolent whelp!” it said in a hiss, now brandishing a scythe it produced out of thin air. “You forfeit your soul for your impertinence!”

“Impertinence?” he scoffed. “Who says that these days?”

“Harry,” Luna warned, tugging on his sleeve. “What are you doing?”

“Getting him to make a mistake,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth. “People always make mistakes when they’re angry.”

“But he’s dead people,” she observed. “Doesn’t that make a difference?”

“Erm, not sure.” He watched the being swing the scythe towards them and just above their heads. “Let’s make a run for it, just in case.”

They shot off in the direction of the gothic building over the hill, ran full tilt and never looked back, only coming to a stop when they reached bolted doors. “What… now?” Luna wheezed.

“See if there are any—” The deadly scythe was suddenly embedded in the door between them. 

“That’ll work.” Harry grabbed the handle of the lethal tool and began hacking at the wooden door that barred them from entering _The Ridges_.

“No! You cannot enter!” the wraith yelled, flying at them in a rage.

In a moment of clarity, Harry abruptly turned suddenly and buried the scythe straight in what would’ve been the spirit’s face, effectively halting the ghoul’s advance. He watched as it screamed horribly, trying to pry the tip from its hood and failing miserably. 

Harry glanced at Luna. “Kill them with their own sword.” 

“Oh! Like you did with Voldemort,” she surmised, nodding her head. 

“Exactly.”

The spirit, unable to remove the weapon, dissolved into nothingness before their eyes. Once it was gone, Harry picked up the scythe that was mysteriously still tangible, and continued hacking at the door. “Why didn’t we do this before?”

“Well, I mistakenly advised against coming up here in the beginning,” she answered sheepishly. “Please forgive me?”

“But why did you advise against it?” He took another whack at the wood, splintering it enough that he could reach inside.

“Because,” she said in a small voice, “if someone was to die a horrible death, I didn’t want it to be you.”

~*~

Standing in the doorway to ‘The Ballroom’, Hermione tried desperately not to lose what little hold she had on her mind. _They_ were all there, every member of the Dark Zodiac, except for the one missing. Her.

She hadn’t know the time frame of her _departure_ , so she’d waited until Draco had dozed off again. Earlier, she’d dug around in her pocket, withdrawn the scrap of paper she’d ripped in half before, and reread the quote written upon it. Clutching it in her hand, she’d held Draco in her arms, and murmured nonsensical things while she’d come to grips with her decision, knowing it was the right thing to do. Finally, she’d cradled him close one last time, kissed his brow, and left.

Stepping into the room, she slowly made her way to the group, remembering a poem she’d read about ghosts, as a child. “As I was walking up the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there,” she pondered aloud, nearly sick with all the malevolent energy gathered in that spot. “He wasn’t there again, today. I wish—how I wish—he’d stay away.”

“My dear, we’ve been expecting you.” Nicodemus Floohart stood before her and bowed low with a flourish. “You look a little peaky.”

“Wouldn’t know why,” she spat at him. She would go, but she wouldn’t go without a fight.

“Ah, spirit. I like that in a woman,” he mused, taking her hand to guide her further into the room. “Makes it that much more enjoyable when they break.”

Eleven spirits stood riveted to the glowing corresponding symbol on the floor. She now saw each of the illustrations from the book Nicodemus had given Snape.

 _The First Born Son_ smiled at her and then laughed. She promptly gave him the two-fingered salute. He scowled in a grimace that meant possible retribution in the afterlife. Hermione could care less, but not by much.

Moans came from the head of _The Torso_ off to her left, as it gyrated from side to side, its hands flailing out to find some kind of purchase. Again she felt pity well in her heart at the poor man dispatched in this manner.

 _The Bound Woman_ was no longer hanging from the rafters, but Hermione wished she was; her appearance was even more ghastly up close and on ground level. She hoped her own glyph wasn’t anywhere near hers.

Having looked at the book further while Draco was sleeping, she now recognised the other spirits she’d not come into contact with that night. _The Withered Lover_ held a striking resemblance to Lily Potter, Harry’s mother, and she wondered if it was actually her spirit trapped in this awful place. Half of her body was blackened, which, if she was indeed Lily Potter, could most likely be the effects of the Killing Curse.

Tears welled in her eyes when she saw what must have been the woman who had attacked Draco with the knife. _The Angry Princess_ , as she was called, was beautiful and disfigured, all in one. Who wouldn’t be angry at having such perfection marred?

When her gaze landed on the giant in an oversized nappy and the small woman who held his hand, she knew she was lucky to have escaped their clutches earlier in the evening. _The Great Child_ and his _Dire Mother_ stood next to each other, the old hag sneering at her while the man-child pouted, still wanting his dolly.

Next to them, stood what could only be called _The Pilgrimess_. The poor woman, dressed in colonial-era clothing, was still bound in her stocks, unable to shake her possibly unwarranted burden. She looked at Hermione with great pleading in her eyes, but eventually turned away when the witch said nothing.

The last three were terrors in their own right, one of them Hermione personally associated with. _The Jackal_ was considered the most violent, the cruellest, the most… disturbed of all the spirits assembled here. So insane was he in life that he’d been kept away from the other inmates in the asylum, caged for his own benefit and that of his guards. He now snapped at her, like a frothing, rabid dog, anxious to get his hands on her again. 

Across from him stood _The Hammer_ , an inmate who had been wrongly accused of raping another patient. When the guards had pronounced him guilty, they’d subjected him to torture by nailing railroad spikes into his body, going so far as to remove his hands and spear his bloody arms with mallets. He was a walking weapon.

On the other side was _The Juggernaut_ —all seven feet of him. He’d been a simple man, committed when he was left parentless at the age of sixteen. The guards had taken great pleasure in taunting him for his size, until one day he’d managed to grab hold of one of his tormentors and snap him in two like a twig. His face and body were riddled with holes, and she to wonder if it was due to Muggles bullets. 

That left one spot for her— _The Torn Princess_. When she made her way to the vacant mark, Hermione found that her feet were stuck to the floor. Frowning, she looked at Nicodemus.

“I thought I had to stand on the glyph?” Her eyes darted to the space, but widened when she saw Draco standing there, _sans_ knife. “No!” she screamed, desperate to free her legs.

“Ah, dearest,” Floohart purred, stroking her cheek. “I had a change of heart.” He turned his gaze in the direction she was staring. “He’s rather _torn_ , wouldn’t you say?”

“Bastard! You said I could take his place!” she ground out. “You promised!”

He looked back at her, expression placid. “I lied.”

“Then the contract is null and void,” she countered. 

Floohart tapped his chin in contemplation. “Contract? I don’t remember any contract.” He smirked at her outrage. 

“Hermione, let it go, love.”

She returned her attention to Draco, who was looking at her with the same kind of pleading _The Pilgrimess_ had, telling her with his eyes what he could not say aloud. _Let me go_.

Shaking her head vehemently, she said in a sob, “No, I have to save you!”

“Told you I would make you keep your promise,” he said with his trademark smirk. “A Malfoy always gets what he wants.” He had the audacity to wink at her.

“Oh, I like him.” Floohart laughed. “Maybe I’ll let him wreak a little havoc once I’m free.”

“Draco,” she said pleadingly once more, “don’t do this.”

He closed his eyes in agony, then opened them, staring at her hatefully. “Get the fuck out of here, Mudblood!”

“Seems he doesn’t want you.” Floohart tutted. “Shame. I’d love to be the one to initiate you into the seedier side of that particular vice.” He ran his hands up and down his body. “Mmmh, I feel a sin coming on!”

Hermione’s feet were suddenly free, but she rebounded from the barrier that now encompassed the group of spirits several times as she tried to cross it, and was sent to land on her backside every one of them. Floohart stood in the middle with his hands upraised, chanting a repeating curse or spell in Latin, while those forming the circle floated around slowly, their power being drained before her eyes.

_“In umbra Malorum Ligni.”_

In the shadow of the Tree of Sinners

_“Iuxta arae Secundus Fili.”_

By the shrine of the Second son

Draco arched his back in agony, feeling his magic leeched from him with every word Floohart uttered.

_“Ex sangvine Abietarii.”_

With the blood of the Carpenter

_“Supra sigilii Gehennae.”_

Above the seals of Gehenna

_“Ego, devotus verus, vos invoco:”_

I, the true believer, invoke you

_“Animae vexabilum Malorum.”_

Souls of sinners in pain

The words sent chills up Hermione’s spine and she tried once again to break the barrier that prevented her from releasing Draco. This time, she was thrown into the doors at the entrance to the room.

_“Dotis meus vexabilis, furia et ululati tuus.”_

Lend me your suffering, your anger and screams

_“Ut cunctus ambulabimus.”_

So we shall all walk proudly

_“Trans terrae Edenis.”_

On the lands outside Eden.

“Hermione?”

She yelped in surprise; she couldn’t help it, when Harry laid a hand on her shoulder. When she made to hug him in relief, she was taken aback by the massive weapon he carried. “What is that?”

“Erm, not sure, but I think… hey!” 

She grabbed the weapon from him and took off running. 

“Where are you going with that?” he called after her, but received no answer. Harry watched in disbelief while Hermione absconded with the deadly scythe, strode purposefully towards the ring of otherworldly—and one worldly—beings, and proceeded to challenge the person in the middle. It all happened so fast; there was no way to stop her.

“Floohart!” she yelled above the din his spell was creating. “Remember that little _caveat_ I asked about? That one where _this_ doesn’t happen?” She indicated his menagerie with a sweep of her hand.

“Hermione, what are you doing?” Harry screamed from the doorway, unclear as to why his best friend was threatening someone who looked more powerful than anyone in the room.

Either Floohart didn’t hear her or he chose to ignore her, which brassed her off even more, so Hermione took things into her own hands. “Kiss your arse good-bye.”

Taking the handle, she brought it down across her knee, snapping the wood in two. She then took the sharp blade of the scythe and placed it over her heart. Knowing the boundary on the circle would press it deep into her chest, she ran with the tip poised where it could do the most damage. At that moment, Floohart turned his attention to her and his eyes widened in real fear.

“No!” he roared, unable to stop the motion of events, echoing Harry and Luna’s combined shouts.

Draco watched with growing horror as she hit the shield keeping the spirits and himself bound to the circle. There was a blinding white light that filled the room and agonised shrieks could be heard everywhere. 

Just as she’d predicted, the cool metal sliced through Hermione’s flesh instantly, piercing the organ keeping her alive. She heard several screams, including her own, and she vaguely wondered if her plan had worked, not that there was much she could do now, if it hadn’t. 

Tumbling to the floor, she saw bright lights flash here and there, before her eyes drooped in exhaustion. The next sensation she felt was one of being lifted, though her limbs were heavy.

“Hermione? Love?” It was Draco’s voice. “What have you done?”

Even though she couldn’t see him anymore, she could still hear him, and she turned in the direction of his sweet tone. “You’re free… yes?” 

Draco glanced all around him. The entities were gone; all that remained of each was a pile of ash where the glyphs had been. In the middle of the circle there was a scorch mark that looked like it had been burnt into the wood via acid. “How did you do it?”

Harry and Luna rushed to Draco’s side and knelt on the floor next to him. “Hermione?” Harry whispered, tears clogging his throat. “What have you done?”

“Thirteenth spirit,” she murmured, her breathing shallow. “ _The Selfless Love_ ,” she said with a serene smile. “Negates… everything…”

“Love?” Draco pleaded, trying to stem the flow of blood from her chest. “Stay with me, please?”

Was it raining? It was so warm now, not like the cold darkness of before. 

“Hermione!” Draco roared, shaking her limp body. “You can’t leave me here!” He clutched her frame to his, rocking back and forth. “You can’t do this!”

“Draco,” Luna sobbed, gripping his shoulder. “She’s gone.”

“No!” he said with a snarl, smacking her hand away. “She promised me she would stay safe, and Hermione Granger always keeps her promises.”

“Malfoy…” Harry sniffed, scrubbing at his own tears. “She’s dead—”

“She’s not dead!” Draco caressed her pale, cold cheeks and smoothed back the errant tresses away from her sightless eyes. “She’s just sleeping.” He kissed her brow. “She’s so very tired.”

Harry lost it at that point and began shouting his anger to the rafters. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Shhh, you’ll wake her,” Draco murmured, cradling the small witch against his chest. “She kept me safe all night and she needs to sleep.”

“Draco,” Luna said hesitantly. “She’s not here anymore.”

This caused the blond wizard to clutch Hermione even closer, growling at the others when either of them dared come near her. Instead of trying to convince him otherwise, Luna just sat next to him and ran her hand in soothing circles on his back, saying nothing while he held the woman that had saved them all, as Harry stared numbly in the distance.


	6. Chapter 6

In the end, there was a lot less bloodshed than one might have expected.

After exiting the asylum, Harry, Luna, and Draco regained the use of their powers, the _Bocca del Inferno_ that resided within the gothic building closed permanently. Draco carried the body of Hermione Granger—for he refused to let anyone, including Potter and Lovegood, near her—and Apparated several times before he arrived at Malfoy Manor, leaving the other half of the team to their own devices on how to return. The wards the Ministry had erected while he’d been under Snape’s surveillance were easily removed and he entered his mansion for the first time in almost five years.

Bypassing all the rooms, he wordlessly opened the patio doors and descended the steps, to head towards the ancestral sepulchre that took up a great deal of space in the middle of the hedge maze. He didn’t need a map to direct him to the heart of the leafy labyrinth, even though it was still somewhat dark out, for he knew it like the back of his hand. Reaching the mausoleum, Draco laid her on the marble funeral dais meant for family members only. He _Accio’d_ a chair to sit by her side, welcoming the resurgence of his magic after having been handicapped for so long. 

In the twilight before dawn, he studied her peaceful features and wondered what possessed a person to give up their life for another. Standing, he traced the barely visible freckles that dotted her nose, her pale lavender lips that looked like she was about to speak at any moment, and the scratches she’d suffered earlier were now more pronounced. Moving downwards, to her chest, his gaze came upon the sucking wound, somewhat like his own, though his had not been as mortal. Her life’s blood had soaked into the turquoise blue fabric of her shirt. He glanced at his right leg, her makeshift tourniquet still in place, and he knew that he would put the strip of fabric she’d so willingly given him in a place of honour. 

A slight breeze brought the scent of crisp apples to his nose, causing him to crumble to his knees beside her. “You promised,” he whispered harshly, burying his face against her arm. “You were supposed to be here so that I could send you letters every day about how my leg looks like a dimpled mess.” His tears streamed unchecked over his high cheek bones. Taking her clenched hand, he brought it to his lips. “Why did you do such a stupid thing, Granger? I’m not worth it!”

Pressing a kiss to her now rigid fingers, he heard a crinkling noise from within her fist. Prying back the pale digits, he spied a piece of paper tucked inside. It was mangled and torn in half, and he idly wondered if that was the stuff she’d used in order to get her fire going in the asylum; the smudged fingerprints confirmed that she’d handled it recently. 

He smoothed out the paper, tears welling in his eyes anew as he read her flowing script.

_Greater love hath no man than this; that he lay down his life for his friends._

~*~

Severus Snape reclined in his chair, his hands steepled in contemplation and curiosity.

It had been a week since he’d sent the motley crew to do what was required. He’d heard nothing from any of them, not that he expected to. Did time pass differently where they were? Anything was possible where Floohart was concerned. He knew one of them would not be returning, but that was the extent of it. He was not privy to Floohart’s agenda so he could only hope that Draco would be spared, as he genuinely cared for his Slytherins. As most insanely powerful creatures are wont to do, however, he anticipated that Hell’s agent would take great pleasure in choosing the marred soul, Draco, for his plan—whatever that might be. 

The pain from his injuries was excruciating today, and he’d taken a liberal amount just to take the edge off, idly wondering if one day the potion wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t matter really. He’d fulfilled his end of the bargain with Floohart, and thus ensured the safety of the Wizarding world, though he often wondered if the ends justified the means. Lost in ruminations, he nearly missed the knock upon his door.

“Enter,” he drawled.

His astonishment couldn’t have been greater when Draco Malfoy slipped into his office, covered from head to toe in blood, grime, and bruises. When the young man stood before him, Snape noticed the redness of his eyes, as if he’d been crying.

“Sit, Draco,” Severus said gently, sensing the fragile state he was in.

“No.” He stared at the Headmaster. “You’re surprised to see me.”

Looking him over from head to toe, Snape grimaced. “Have you been seen by a Healer?”

“Tell me why,” Draco croaked, ignoring his question. “You knowingly sent us to our death the moment we walked out of here yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Snape said incredulously. “You’ve been gone a week.”

“A week?” Draco touched the wound on the right side of his chest, and winced in pain when he pressed against it. “It felt longer. He must’ve altered time while we were there.”

Snape rose slowly from his seat and made his way around the desk to stand next to his former pupil. “He?”

“Floohart.” Said out loud, the name sent shivers down both men’s necks. “He took her.”

“Lovegood?” Snape asked causally. Too casually.

“No,” Draco countered in a low and dangerous tone. “I want an answer.”

A sneer was etched on the Headmaster’s face. “I assume you saw the memories. That should be sufficient explanation.”

“I saw one,” the younger man said with a snarl. “Hermione saw the others.” He snorted when Snape looked confused. “She figured out everything before any of us, and she made sure we survived to return home.” Knowing his mentor had a hand in her death, Draco leaned in close. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

“You cannot speak to me in such—”

“But I have, and I will,” Draco cut him off. “ _Crucio!_ ” The blond showed no emotion whatsoever as he went on to cast the Unforgivable on the one person he had looked up to, the one he’d trusted with his life. He knew that Snape would not be able to recover from a prolonged curse, especially in his vulnerable state. 

“You sent us to our deaths,” he intoned flatly, ceasing the hex long enough to place the heel of his boot on Snape’s chest, digging it in and enjoying the older man’s whimpers of pain. “You knew all along that we would not survive.”

“No,” Snape grunted, his breathing becoming shallow, just like Hermione’s had. “I knew one of you would die,” he admitted. “I gave the book to the one that would be missed the least.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and Draco’s eyes flared with an unholy light. “The least of us—is that right, Severus?” Rage consumed him at the thought that Snape had set her up from the beginning. 

“You hated her, Draco.” He wheezed, grappling with the boy’s foot in a vain attempt to remove it. “Tell me otherwise!”

Bending low so that he was nose to nose with the other wizard, Draco hissed, “Otherwise.” He laid the tip of his wand against Snape’s forehead. “So, what shall it be, hmm?” He gave Severus a feral smile. “Obliviate or Avada Kedavra?”

“Kill me then,” Snape spat. “End this wretched existence of mine!”

“Why not let him come home with me?” interjected a voice from the doorway.

Turning, Draco tensed when he spied Nicodemus Floohart. “ _Avada Kedavra_!” He flung the curse at the object of his hatred, dumbfounded when the newest bane of his existence deflected it as though it were a bothersome gnat.

“My boy, when are you going to learn?” Floohart blew soot off his nails. “You just can’t kill me.”

“Hermione did a damn fine job of it,” Draco corrected with a mutinous tilt to his chin. 

Strolling into the room, Floohart glanced down at Severus, smiling wickedly. “He does have a point.” He pushed the bedraggled blond aside and pressed his own boot into Snape’s throat. “She destroyed a century’s worth of work.”

“Good for her!” Malfoy spat.

“Ah, but not good for your friend here.” Floohart snapped his fingers and Snape shot upright. “I still need payment.”

“What do you mean?” 

Floohart turned his attention to Malfoy. “It’s all very simple. He asked for my services, I want payment... or I can return your wretched time back five years and it will start all over again.”

Five years? They were all in the thick of the battle against Voldemort at that time. Is this what Snape had done? Make a deal with the proverbial Devil to extinguish the Dark Lord in exchange for...

“A soul,” Floohart supplied. “I just needed one more to open that portal, but alas, my particular vice—Vanity—obscured Miss Granger’s plan until it was too late.”

“You didn’t think she’d do it, did you?”

“Dear boy,” Floohart said condescendingly. “You opened the book and it chose you, but bleeding-heart Granger chose you as well.”

He didn’t know if he had the courage to handle the answer to his next question, but he asked it anyway. “For what?”

Giving Draco a snide look, Floohart arched his brow. “Her love, you imbecile.”

“ _The Selfless Love_ ,” Draco murmured to himself. “ _I_ killed her.”

Floohart sniggered. “She was right, you are a drama queen. Not everything is about you.” He gave a very put-upon sigh. “So...” he exclaimed with a clap of his hands. “Which is it? A soul or a repeat of the last five years? I’m a very busy _man_ and you’re not the only stop I have today.” 

“Don’t you have hers?” Draco asked, genuinely confused. “I thought that’s why—”

“I’ll attribute your lack-wit questions to the fact that you’re stressed.” Floohart rolled his eyes. “She is merrily tip-toeing through the tulips for all I know. Souls that selfless get a one-way ticket straight to paradise.” He shrugged. “Besides, she would’ve made a terrible minion. Can you just imagine it? Admonishing the sinner for his transgressions and then indulging him? It would’ve set a bad precedent.”

Draco could indeed see Hermione as a reluctant agent of the Underworld—Floohart wouldn’t have been able to rid himself fast enough of her termagant presence. It also brought a fresh wave of tears to his eyes. “If we went back five years, would she be returned to the Wizarding world?” he dared to ask.

Floohart studied him as he landed a fierce jab to Snape’s ribs, delighting in the man’s whimper of pain. “Yes, but she would end the same way. Everyone has a thread, Malfoy, and hers was cut as it was destined to be.” He held up a long silver cord. “This is yours.” Waving it back and forth, he smiled. “I can’t make it longer, but I can certainly make it shorter.” He brandished a set of scissors and poised them at the middle of the strand, ready to cut. “What say you?”

Could he do that to Hermione? He knew Floohart wasn’t divulging all the details that involved going back five years, so the true consequences of such an action could not be comprehended. Would he let her death be in vain if he wished it undone? The implications were staggering. “Any soul?” he posed hesitantly.

A malicious smile crept over Floohart’s face. “As I said, why not let me take him?” He pointed at the panting Headmaster.

Snape managed a sneer. “Do your worst. I’m already dying.”

Nicodemus placed his hand over Severus’ heart. “Oh, but you’re not, my precious deviant.” A jolt raced through Snape’s body and he staggered backwards. “I’m going to keep you alive.”

“In Merlin’s name, why?” Snape shouted, clutching at his chest.

“To exact my payment, old fellow,” Floohart explained as if the other man were a simpleton. “Over, and over, and over again.”

Hooking his taloned fingers in the Headmaster’s nostrils, Floohart dragged him to the door, turning once to look over his shoulder at Draco. “I’d say I’m sorry for your loss,” the handsome man said, sounding truly regretful for a moment before his eyes turned red and he showed the young wizard his fangs. “But I’m not.”

“Fuck you!” Draco roared, throwing another curse at him with the same results as the previous one.

Propping Snape on the outside of the door, Floohart waggled his eyebrows at the furious blond. “Temper, temper.” He smiled and left, taking Snape with him.

~*~

It was nearly mid-morning by the time Draco returned to the manor. Once again, he made his way to the Malfoy crypt, only to sit in silence and stare at Hermione’s still body where it lay on the black and white marble. 

He tried to think, to rationalise his and her actions regarding the events of the past day—or according to the currently suffering Potions master, a full week—but he just couldn’t move his mind past the fact that she was no longer there to tease, that the person he’d come to respect and care a great deal for was gone. All throughout his school career he’d been taught to hate her kind. _Taught_ , not born with the hatred, but learned it at his father’s knee. But his parents were as gone as she was, so where did that leave him?

Tears flooded his eyes once more when he remembered the look on her face when he’d called her a ‘Mudblood’ in the ballroom. He’d been trying to get her to leave so she wouldn’t be exposed to whatever Floohart had intended. That look had spoken first of hurt and betrayal, and then of refusal and determination. He honestly didn’t know whom she had been trying to save that day by doing such a foolish thing—him or Wizarding kind itself. In the end, he supposed it didn’t matter; they were all safe because of her sacrifice.

The fronds of a nearby willow tree swayed slightly, though there was no breeze, and the light scent of apples was carried on the wind. Draco buried his face in his hands to stop the sensory overload.

“It was for you.”

Raising his head gradually, he darted his gaze all around him to find the source of the voice. “Who’s there? You’re trespassing!”

“You brought me here.” It was like a lover whispering in his ear.

Confused, he stood and whirled to see the misty image of a woman standing near the cascading tree limbs. Narrowing his eyes, he studied her form until his mouth went slack with shock. “Hermione?”

A serene smile graced her lips as she slowly approached until she halted just in front of him. “It was for you,” she reiterated. 

His chest was heaving from the gasping sob surging within. “Why?” he asked pleadingly. “Why did you do that?” He reached out to touch her and muffled a whimper when his hand met no resistance. 

“It was the right thing to do.” She was dressed in the same attire she had died in, but it lacked the abuse she’d suffered while wearing it, her complexion flawless. “I regret nothing.”

“Well, I do!” he cried. “It should’ve been me up there, and it was, but you had to go and foul it up as usual, Granger.”

Her tinkling laughter surrounded him, washing over him like a soothing balm. “I always seem to get in your way, don’t I?”

Moving closer, he traced the outline of her form with his fingers, desperate to feel her. “It was supposed to be me.” 

“Even a Malfoy doesn’t always get what he wants, you know.” She leaned into his palm when it caressed her transparent cheek. “And I kept my promise.”

“What promise?” he asked softly, amazed at how his hand tingled where it met her misty form. 

“I’m safe now; nothing can hurt me anymore.”

Draco crumbled to the ground and sobbed loudly, wholly undone by the fact she had indeed, kept her promise, though not in a way he was happy with. He didn’t know how long he sat there, propped up against the marble dais, but his tears eased when he felt a kiss pressed to his forehead.

“I’ll come back,” she whispered near him. “I still have to read all those letters you intend to write me every day about your leg.”

Dusting himself off, he stood on shaky legs, scrubbing his red-rimmed eyes. “You can bet your sweet arse I’m going to be writing them, too.”

She smirked and nodded. “You’ll be all right?”

He returned her smile. “For now.”


End file.
